


Special Instructions

by bleebug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, but it will probably have a little porn later, but then it became not porn, this was originally going to be a cheesy porno fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 22:14:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleebug/pseuds/bleebug
Summary: Drunk Emma really likes pizza. She also really happens to like the cute delivery guy who seems content to carry out all of her wishes via the "Special Instructions" box on the website.





	1. Chapter 1

**Special instructions:** _pls make smiley face with pepperoni, i could use something happy right now_

She’d typically have left the box blank but Emma was currently full of self-pity and a little too drunk to really care how she appeared to the rest of the world.

Two _years_ she’d spent with Walsh. Two years of warm embraces and whispered _I love you_ ’s and sweet kisses and integrating him into her close-knit group of friends despite some heavy resistance – especially from David; she reminded herself to give her brother a hug later for trying – and for what? 

For him to just “reconnect” with his ex at what was supposed to be their _engagement_ party?

_“I’m so sorry, Em. I never meant to hurt you like this. It just… happened. I can’t help how I feel.”_

She scoffed in disgust. What an asshole. A total prick.

She finished off her fifth – sixth? – bottle of beer and popped open another. Maybe after another few she’d forget the sight of him with his tongue down that other woman’s throat. Maybe she’d forget the shock and guilt on his face when she’d dropped her glass of champagne at seeing them together, stunned to see her betrothed blatantly cheating on her by the bathrooms while their party guests mulled about in the main room, completely clueless.

She’d left her own party without a word to anyone, dodged calls and texts from everyone, ignored knocks on the door, and wallowed in misery by herself.

How the hell was she going to explain this to her friends and family? How was she going to deal with the looks of pity and the half-assed comfort they’d offer her?

More importantly, how the hell did she drink through another bottle without even realizing it?

She groaned and sunk further into the couch, tossing the empty bottle on the floor in the pile of used tissues and empty candy wrappers, the glass clinking loudly against the last one she finished. Her apartment was turning into one giant garbage can. She was never a tidy person, but _Christ_. If her sister-in-law saw what had become of her living room, she’d have a conniption. (And probably clean the whole mess up herself, knowing Mary Margaret, which at this point Emma wasn’t entirely opposed to.) 

She got halfway through her (she wanted to say seventh) beer when she heard the buzz indicating that someone was at her door.

“Finally,” she grumbled, forcing herself up. 

She was starving and she really needed her fucking pizza. It had been far too long since she’d had the good stuff. Walsh was fond of the pretentious gourmet crap that had cheeses she couldn’t even pronounce and strange non-tomato sauces and lean, tasteless meats that were supposedly _“So much better for you, Emma. The other stuff will give you heart disease and ruin your diet.”_

Fucking Walsh. He could keep his stupid $40 pizzas that you were expected to eat with a fork and knife. Emma wanted extra mozzarella, jalapeños, spicy pepperoni, thick, fluffy buttered crusts, and a visible layer of grease coating the top. With no forks in sight. She didn’t even have to worry about getting food stuck in the crevices of her engagement ring anymore, so how about that.

She snagged the twenty dollar bill off the coffee table and padded to the door, swinging it open and coming face to face with…

Dear lord. Weren’t pizza delivery boys supposed to be… boys? Like, high school age, acne-faced, oily haired boys? Maybe she was stereotyping, but that had been what she was used to back when she used to get pizza delivered regularly.

In any case, she was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to look like this. Artfully mussed hair, well-groomed stubble, baby blue eyes framed by thick, dark lashes, and a standard uniform polo shirt left unbuttoned to proudly display a smattering of chest hair. Not to mention his fitted slacks that really showcased his… gifts. 

“Ms. Swan, I presume?” he asked in a ridiculously sexy British accent that really pulled the whole scruffy, smoldering, bad boy look together. 

She blinked at him, blushing when she realized he’d noticed her ogling certain inappropriate areas of his body. God, she was a creep.

“Uh, yeah.”

_Great going, Emma. Real articulate_.

It took her a solid twenty seconds of staring at his face before she realized he was trying to hand her the box. She blamed it on the alcohol.

“Thanks, sorry,” she said, averting her gaze to the colorful logo on the pizza box. She turned around and set it down on the accent table by the entryway. (A piece of furniture she’d acquired solely because of Walsh’s insistence. It was tiny and provided practically no function, but it had cost nearly three hundred dollars and she wasn’t about to just throw it out now. Besides, it was yellow and cute and she kind of adored it.)

When she turned back to him, he was grinning. Well, smirking. He had this amused quirk in his brow and gave her an appraising once-over. Had she been sober, it might have unnerved her, but alas, she was not. Instead, she found herself growing rather warm under his gaze, in more ways than one.

This was so stupid. Now way would she let herself be thrown off by some handsome stranger, even if she _was_ teetering between still-sort-of-rational drunk and let’s-make-all-the-bad-decisions drunk. This wasn’t some cheesy porno where the lonely single woman seduced the hot pizza guy and brought him inside for a quick fuck.

She placed her fists on her hips and adopted a look of defiance, frowning for good measure. He didn’t seem fazed, bouncing once on the balls of his feet before rolling back on his heels, still smiling openly at her.

“No need to look so defensive, love. Just doing my job.”

_Love?_ Oh yeah, this guy was definitely rubbing her the wrong way. (She reminded herself not to think about him rubbing her the _right_ way.)

“Don’t call me love.”

“Ah, it’s a habit, I’m afraid. Would you prefer ‘darling’ or ‘sweetheart’? I’m partial to both.”

Ugh. Her eyes rolled skyward and she huffed as she reached for the door handle and started to shut her door. She jumped when the guy shoved his foot in the doorway, preventing her from shutting him out.

“What the hell!”

He chuckled – how annoying! – and she pulled back on the knob to glare at him. What was this guy’s problem?

“I’m afraid even for the most beautiful of customers, I am not allowed to give out free pizzas, lo- … Ms. Swan.”

Her eyes widened. She uncurled the fist at her side and looked down upon the crinkled bill in her hand.

Shit.

Within the span of two minutes she’d managed to make a total fool out of herself twice. How hard was it to remember: take pizza, pay deliveryman, close door? No amount of alcohol should have caused her to forget how a simple transaction worked.

(It _wasn’t_ the beer’s fault. It was this asshole’s fault for being so fucking pretty.) 

She mumbled an apology and handed him the money, surely cringing from embarrassment as she told him to just _keep the change_. He graciously took it from her without any more teasing remarks, but before he pulled his foot back to allow her to close the door, he nodded to the box behind her.

“I hope that makes you feel even just a little bit better.” His smile was kind and disarming and she eyed him suspiciously. “Wish I had something else to offer you. A lovely lady such as yourself deserves all the happiness in the world.”

She gaped at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, as he winked and turned on his heel, heading back to the building elevator.

After hearing the short _ding_ down the hall, she peered around the corner to see him bowing his head and tentatively scratching behind his ear, which was now tinged pink as if he were genuinely embarrassed.

She stepped back and closed her door, locking it for good measure, before she did something stupid like yell _Thank you, I think_ to the guy before he got on the elevator.

As she turned to get to her pizza, the very reason that the stupidly handsome stranger had been at her apartment to begin with, she caught sight of herself in the mirror hanging on the wall in her entryway and grimaced.

Hair in disarray, piled atop her head in a messy bun that resembled a bird’s nest, slightly smeared eyeliner, oversized t-shirt (stained with a few drops of beer) with the word _HANGRY_ in big bold letters across the chest, baggy sweatpants, and mismatched socks. She was the definition of a hot mess.

And she absolutely hated that that gorgeous man, in all his chisel-jawed glory, had to be subjected to the sight. She shouldn’t care. He was a total stranger. But Emma could admit to herself that she was self-conscious enough to care about what other people thought of her. Well, some people.

Him, mostly.

But she’d probably never see him again anyway, she figured. At least he’d been relatively nice to her. She’d thought his quick perusal of her was sexual in nature, but now it was very clear that he was just taking in the sad image of post-breakup Emma. (He had called her beautiful, though. And lovely. He was either too kind to be honest or he just wanted to ensure a decent tip.)

With a defeated sigh, she grabbed the box of pizza and returned to her couch, landing on the rightmost cushion and sitting cross-legged with the box in her lap.

When she opened it, she was pleasantly surprised to see not only a smiley face made out of pepperoni slices, but the artist in charge of her pizza had put some nice details in. They’d cut up some pieces to make a ratty head of hair and placed jalapeños over the eyes as irises as well as oregano freckles and two strategically placed spinach leaves as ears.

And she found herself laughing. A loud, real laugh, for the first time in days. (Had it only been days? It felt a lot longer.)

With a start, she realized that the ache in her chest that was overwhelming only minutes earlier was beginning to ease. Over a stupid pizza face.

(And maybe, just a little, because of that cute delivery guy whose name she didn’t even ask for. Damn it.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Special instructions:** _would u buy us more beer? like a lot. i will pay u_

“Oh my god, Ems, I think Robin and Regina are getting it on in your room.”

She jumped at the sound of Ruby’s voice yelling in her ear over the sound of the music, then let out a whiny groan.

“Gross, on my bed?” she asked, disgusted at the thought of having to wash her linens before sleeping in them. She was buzzed enough to enjoy the atmosphere but not enough to let her friends fuck in her apartment. “Ugh, let me go stop them before I have to light my mattress on fire.”

Her movements were stilted and she stumbled a little as she walked down her hall. Sure enough, her door was shut and a sock hung from the knob. Her fist banged on the wood.

“Don’t you guys fucking dare! Go to your own apartments for this shit or I’m never inviting you over again. This isn’t college,” she shouted. A muffled grunt that sounded sort of like an apology came from the other side and she figured she’d leave and at least give them a few minutes to collect themselves.

“Emma! Where’s the beer?”

The question came from her brother who was currently losing (horrendously) at beer pong to Elsa, who had surprising accuracy for someone who was drunker than most people in the room.

“Uh, we’re out. I was about to go walk to the convenience store around the corner to get some more.”

“What? Why would you need to go get more?” Ruby asked, throwing an arm around her shoulder.

“Because we’re out.”

“Yeah, but isn’t the pizza guy gonna bring some?”

Emma’s brows pulled together in confusion.

“No? I didn’t actually click the order button.”

Ruby’s teeth glimmered as she offered Emma what might have been an apologetic smile. Emma inhaled deeply.

“You didn't.”

“I’m sorry! You put in all the information, I just figured you forgot.”

“Ruby! I just wrote that as a joke! I was gonna delete it before ordering!”

She flustered, shoving her friend away and pacing the length of her slightly crowded living room, pressing her fingers to her temples in an attempt to stave off a headache that was half due to booze and half to panic.

What if it was the same guy? That ridiculously cute one from before? Ugh, she was so embarrassed.

But… no way a pizza place would let a driver go grab beer for their customers, right?

Wrong, as it turned out.

After thirty minutes of stress and worry and checking herself in the mirror to make sure she didn’t look as drunk as she was and multiple choruses of _‘Hey, is the beer here yet?’_ (“No, but there’s an entire cabinet full of alcohol right there. Take a shot and chill the fuck out.”) the doorbell finally buzzed.

Luckily for Emma, her friends were all very preoccupied, so she managed to make it to her front door unimpeded. She peered at her reflection one more time (pulling down the hem of her dress, then tilting her head and shimmying it back up higher on her thigh, nodding once) before pulling it open.

Instead of a face, she was startled to see four six-packs of beer balanced at eye level on top of the boxes of pizza.

“Oh my god.”

“Little help, love?”

For a moment, she let herself grin, instantly recognizing the voice as belonging to the handsome delivery guy from last time. Then she stepped forward to relieve him of his burden. She took two packs of beer from the top and put them down in the entryway, then went back for the next two.

Once his face was visible, she had to hold back the dreamy sigh from bubbling over. He was even more attractive than she remembered. Eyes like the ocean, happy creases beside them, charming dimples in each cheek from his smile, perfect row of white teeth…

Damn it, she was staring again.

She put the rest of the cans down and then reached for the pizza boxes, shifting them behind her onto the accent table and grabbing the cash she had tucked into the doorframe.

When she turned back to him, he was quite obviously ogling her, his mouth slightly agape as his eyes traveled the length of her, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek, and she was so relieved that she happened to be all dolled up and looking her sexiest this time around.

_Okay, Emma. Now you just have to pretend like you’re a totally normal person. No biggie._

“I can’t believe you actually got beer,” she chuckled, twisting the bills in her hands, a bit reluctant to hand them over and end their interaction.

He laughed in return, though she could hear the uneasy undertone. His shoulders lifted in a casual shrug and he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Well, you asked for it, so…”

She pursed her lips around a smile because _fuck_ he was adorable. She wanted to… bite him. Like his shoulder or his neck or his jaw.

Maybe if she were a bit drunker.

“Right, uh… well, thank you. You really didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” he assured her. Emma was great at sniffing out lies, and it was clear the man was sincere. “Beer and pizza is a popular combo, anyway.”

“Oh, so I guess you do this kinda thing often, then?”

“Uh, well, no. Not really.”

She perked up a bit at his admission and sunk her teeth into her bottom lip as she watched him scratch at his hairline. Did that mean this was the first time he’d done something like this? She had to admit that it felt good to hear that she might be getting special treatment.

“Heeeyyy!” She almost jumped as Ruby appeared behind her, arms winding around her waist and her chin resting on her shoulder as she peered over at the delivery guy. “Look how pretty you are. And you brought us beer!”

He smirked, all that bashful cuteness disappearing from his features in lieu of something a bit more bold and confident.

“Pretty? I prefer ‘dashing.’”

Oh no, was he flirting with Ruby? Not cool. She saw him first.

(God, what was she, twelve? Getting all possessive over some cute boy that she didn’t even know?)

Ruby let out a drunken giggle fit, pressing her face against Emma’s shoulder.

“Emma,” she whisper-shouted, clearly loud enough for him to hear although she imagined her friend didn’t notice, or care. “Is this that super cute pizza guy you told me about?”

“ _Ruby!_ ” she hissed, elbowing her in the gut and forcing her to stumble backward. In a moment of panic, she stepped out into the hall and shut the door behind her to close her friend inside the apartment, contemplating just how many more drinks she’d need after this to forget how utterly embarrassed she was.

“Hey! Emma!” Ruby’s whiny voice echoed through the door but luckily she didn’t bother trying to open it. Even over the sound of the music and chatter, she could hear her friend’s huff of annoyance as she stomped her stilettos back into the party.

“Cute pizza guy, huh?”

With a quiet groan, she banged her forehead against the hard surface of the door. Her face felt like it was on fire.

“Uggghh, please just take the money and go,” she grumbled, holding her arm out behind her without turning to face him.

She felt his fingers slide over hers and opened her palm so he could get his payment. As soon as he took it, she yanked her hand back and pressed it to her stomach, trying to ease the little knot of anxiety by rubbing circles against it.

“This is way too much, love. And I’m afraid I don’t have enough on me to give you proper change for-”

“Just take it,” she interrupted, face still pressed against the door. “You put in the effort to go out and get us drinks, so it’s fine.”

“The beer and food was less than a hundred. This is two. This is a hundred percent tip.”

“You’re seriously gonna argue with extra cash?”

He tapped her on the shoulder and she hesitantly looked over at him.

“Like I said before, it was no trouble. Here,” he said, holding out one of the hundred dollar bills she’d given him. “I really don’t need it.”

Did he think she was treating him like a charity case or something?

“No, it’s yours,” she insisted. “It was supposed to be wedding money anyway so it’s not, like, a loss.”

She cursed her stupid loose lips and doubly cursed the alcohol that had caused them. There was no reason this poor guy needed to know about her baggage.

She expected him to just turn tail and run but one of those perfect thick brows rose and the tip of his tongue peeked out to wet his lips.

“Was?”

“What?”

“It _was_ wedding money?”

There was no judgment in his tone, just pure curiosity. And maybe a little relief. But she could have imagined that part.

“Uh, it… yeah. So just take it. I don’t need it.”

He was silent for a moment, eyes searching hers, for what she wasn’t sure.

“All right, I’ll accept it. On one condition.”

“Uh, okay.”

“You tell me why Mr. Franklin here is no longer helping pay for your wedding,” he said, wiggling the bill in front of her.

“I… am not getting married anymore?”

“Well, I kind of got that part.”

What, he actually _wanted_ to hear her stupid sob story? Or was there some kind of ulterior motive here? (Did she want him to have an ulterior motive?)

She was _just_ buzzed enough to let her defenses down.

“Uh… my fiancé- er, ex-fiancé… he hooked up with his ex-girlfriend at our engagement party.” She slowly rotated on her heels and leaned back against the door, her hands squished between her lower back and the painted wood.

“Oof, that’s rough,” he said, stepping beside her and mirroring her position.

She was grateful that he didn’t look at her with pity in his eyes. That would have been a little too much to handle.

“Yeah.” He didn’t press her for more information but he also didn’t move to leave, so Emma found herself spilling more than she intended. “We were together for two years. I don’t even… I don’t remember why I started dating him. I think I was just lonely. Anyway, he convinced me that it’d be a good idea to start a ‘swear jar,’ which in hindsight was probably just his way of trying to tell me I cursed too much.

“Over the course of our relationship I saved up almost twelve hundred dollars. He contributed about three hundred. But when we got engaged, we decided to use the swear jar money towards my wedding dress. Which I won’t need anymore, so…” She gestured to his pocket where the two hundred dollar bills resided.

“Are you telling me that each curse warranted a hundred dollar fine?”

“No, I usually put in like fives or ones. But I went to the bank before I planned this party.” She nodded her head towards the door, behind which music still played loudly and her friends’ voices spilled through in muffled laughs and shouts. “It’s my no-longer-engaged party.”

“Is it now?”

“Yeah. A little pathetic, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

They grew silent but he made no move to leave and she had this strange urge to just keep talking to him, to give him some reason to stay a little longer. Mostly, she just wanted to vent to someone who wasn’t a close friend or family.

“I just… I can’t believe I was stupid enough to let him into my life in the first place. I mean, I… I loved him. I put so much into that relationship and he just… he broke my heart like it meant nothing to him.”

“You’re _not_ stupid. You’re just human. There’s no way you can truly know a person’s heart in its entirety. Loving and trusting is just what we do. It’s like breathing. Natural. Can’t control it any more than you can control which way the wind blows.”

She stared.

“I… honestly can’t tell if that’s encouraging or not.”

“Ah…” He crinkled his nose and his cheeks grew red. “Sorry. I guess I just meant, don’t blame yourself for letting someone in. I… well, I don’t want to say I know how you feel, but I certainly know what it’s like to have a broken heart.”

“Yeah?”

He let out a short, quiet laugh and slid to the floor, his back still propped up against the door behind them. She followed suit, pressing her hands to the skirt of her dress so it wouldn’t ride up. Or, at least not enough to be too scandalous.

“Mm. I was with this woman for over three years. She had this fancy, elite job, or so I thought, that kept her away most of the time. But I really thought she was it for me…”

“What happened?”

“Her husband happened.” Emma’s eyes widened incredulously and he scratched nervously at his ear. “Turned out that the ‘fancy job’ keeping her away was her marriage. She’d been married long before we met and I never even knew. She even had a child at home.”

“Oh my god. That sucks.”

“It’s all right. I’m over it. Took me a while, but I got there.” He offered her a timid smile and she found herself reaching out to grasp his hand. His gaze flickered downward and she worried for a brief moment that she was being too forward, but he just turned his palm and held her hand in return. He looked serious when he looked back up at her. “It’s not all bad. See, if your heart can be broken… that means it still works.”

She felt her eyelashes fluttering as their eyes locked, and it felt like as soon as he’d said the words, she was reminded just how well her heart _did_ work. It was racing.

Before she had the chance to figure out what exactly to do next, she was falling backwards and her head came into sharp contact with the floor of her entryway and she yanked her hand away from his to cradle the soon-to-be bruise at the base of her skull.

“Ow, shit!”

When her eyes blinked open, David was hovering above her.

“Whoa! You all right, there? Sorry, I didn’t know you were leaning against the door, I was just wondering where you ran off to.” She slowly sat back up and got her bearings before realizing that her brother was glaring at the man beside her. “Who the hell is this?”

“Chill, David. He brought us pizza and beer.”

“Ohhh,” her brother crooned, that furrow in his brow relaxing. (The Overprotective Big Brother thing was getting old.) “Well, thanks. But why are you still here? And what are you two doing sitting on the floor?”

“Ah, sorry mate, that’s my fault.” He stood up and brushed imaginary dirt off his backside before reaching his hand out to her. She took it and he helped pull her up, steadying her when she wobbled on her heels. “I suppose I should, uh, get back to work.”

“Right, yeah,” she said, putting on a fake smile. “Sorry to keep you.”

“Well, you did give me quite the tip, so I forgive you.”

They both laughed a little awkwardly and then David took a step forward, looming beside her and clearing his throat.

“Right, well, I’ll just…” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder and then almost turned to go before looking back at her one more time. “Uh, just so you know… I think you seem absolutely lovely, Emma. Any man who wouldn’t find you to be enough… well, they don’t deserve you.”

Emma Swan did _not_ swoon. But apparently Drunk Emma did.

It wasn’t until after he was gone that she realized she hadn’t asked his name, _again_.

Shit.

 

\---

 

 **Special instructions:** _don’t use buzzer, knock quietly, my friend is sleeping_

For once, she was ordering a pizza while completely, one hundred percent sober. It was, after all, difficult to take care of someone who was plastered when you were drunk, too.

Ruby had just fallen asleep less than an hour earlier and it was finally, _finally_ quiet in her apartment. She felt bad for her friend, given that she’d just gone through a pretty brutal breakup, but unlike Emma, who’d wallowed in her misery alone after the whole Walsh debacle, Ruby was the kind of person who needed someone to constantly hold her hand and comfort her when she was feeling emotional. Emma was glad to help, but after six grueling hours of wiping away tears and stealing her phone so she wouldn’t call her ex and trying to shove glasses of water in her hands between drinks, she was exhausted.

She didn’t feel like cooking so she decided on pizza.

(And maybe, just a little bit, she was hoping to see that guy again. Perhaps remember to ask for his name this time.)

She changed out of the pajamas that she’d been wearing all day and into a pair of leggings and a long t-shirt with a graphic of a pizza slice – because that’s cute, right? a little pizza attire for the pizza guy? god she was lame – then pulled her hair into a high ponytail, pulling the elastic this way and that until it had that cute messy look as if she hadn’t put much effort into it.

When she heard the knock at the door, soft and quiet as she’d asked, she adjusted her clothes and took a deep breath before opening it…

Only to wither at the sight of a brunette woman standing with a pizza box in hand.

“Hi, there. Emma, right?”

The woman’s accent was lovely, rounded and soothing, but it wasn’t the same as the cute delivery guy’s. Australian, maybe?

“Uh, yeah, that’s me.”

“Here you go. It’s fifteen even.”

The woman handed her the pizza and Emma gave her a twenty to cover the cost plus a decent tip. She thought that would be the full extent of their interaction (because, really, the whole thing with Cute Delivery Guy wasn’t normal behavior for her) but before she could close the door, the woman spoke up again.

“You _are_ pretty,” she said, as if she were answering a question.

“Uh, excuse me?”

“Oh, sorry, it’s nothing. My coworker might have mentioned you, is all.”

“Your… coworker?”

“Don’t tell him I told you. He’ll have a fit. He’s really quite shy under all that bravado.”

Huh. Cute Delivery Guy talked about her?

Interesting.

“I’m Belle, by the way. His sister-in-law.”

“Oh?”

“Family-owned business,” she explained without prompting. She shrugged her shoulders and took a step back. “Anyway, that’s all. Nice meeting you. And thank you, of course, for your patronage.”

Emma didn’t have a chance to respond before the petite beauty – _hah_ , _Belle_ , Emma thought with a laugh – turned and scurried down the hallway, the click of her ridiculously high heels (who worked in those things?) tapping away against the hard floor.

When Emma made her way back into her apartment, she quietly sank into her desk chair, throwing a quick glance to the couch where Ruby was passed out and snoring quietly underneath a mound of blankets, and opened up her pizza box with a frustrated sigh.

Things she knew about Cute Pizza Guy: he was British and damn good looking; he had an Australian sister-in-law which meant he also must have a brother or sister; he was a great listener and had had his heart broken before; and he would not get out of her head.

Things she didn’t know about Cute Pizza Guy: his goddamn fucking _name_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Special instructions:** _pls send cute delivry guy, i missss himm_    

One of the benefits of having a job with odd hours was that Emma could get completely trashed on a Tuesday evening and not give a single fuck as to how it would affect her the next morning. She’d started her own private party several hours earlier when all of her friends had turned her down for one reason or another. (Because they had jobs, mostly. Fucking party pooping productive members of society.)

She was giggling so hard she snorted when she clicked ‘order’ on the website, so beyond caring about anything that she felt no shyness or shame whatsoever.

Drunk did not even begin to cover it. Drunk was several homemade cocktails earlier. She was mixing a bunch of things she _really_ shouldn’t be mixing. She couldn't remember everything she ingested, but she did recall the two straight shots of tequila that she started off with (and what a way to start), as well as the few gulps of red wine that she took straight from the bottle because she was a respectable, refined adult. She vaguely recalled an almost-daiquiri of questionable flavor, as well as one particularly horrible concoction of Red Bull, triple sec, vodka, gin, and Gatorade because apparently she was trying to liquefy her internal organs.

(It didn’t help that she’d pulled out the entire contents of her alcohol cabinet and placed everything on her kitchen counter, giving her a wide selection of self-destructive options.)

But terrible decisions get made when there’s no one around to talk her down.

To be fair, she was having water between drinks, but didn’t have the good sense to put it in a glass; she just turned on the faucet and shoved her face beneath it, catching more of it in her hair and on her skin than in her actual mouth.

A little pathetic to be hammered, alone in her home on a weeknight? Maybe. But she had her reasons. Her achingly sad and probably pathetic reasons. She knew she could have gone out to a bar or club, but if she had, she would probably have brought some stranger home and right now that was definitely not the healthiest way of dealing with things. Not that what she was doing now was healthy. It would have been so much better if her friends hadn’t all left her to her own devices. Unfortunately, at this point even Ruby (ungrateful Ruby!) refused to join her for drinks on a weeknight.

She made sure to text them many times to let them know just how much fun she was having without them.

( **Mary Margaret:** _maybe you should slow down, you’re going to get alcohol poisoning_

**Emma:** _its not POISONIG ME_

**Emma:** _maybe ur the poisson_

**Emma:** _drunking if fun u shuld try it_

**Mary Margaret:** _ok sweetie. make sure you drink some water ok?_

**Emma:** _fine but only becus i live u_

**Emma:** _live_

**Emma:** _love_ )

When the doorbell buzzed, she jumped from the couch and tripped over her rug, landing flat on her face against the hardwood floor. Luckily for her, pain didn’t compute – not since about halfway through that would-be daiquiri – so she pushed herself back up and kept her balance by leaning against the walls until she reached the door.

She opened it wide, the knob banging loudly as it hit the wall, and grinned when she saw Cute Delivery Guy standing in the hall.

“Hey, they sent you!” she cheered, loud enough to cause him to cringe through his returning smile.

“Aye, Cute Delivery Guy, at your service,” he said, giving a slight bow and nod of his head.

She smothered her laughter with the back of her hand and then bit her lip, twirling a strand of her hair around in circles.

He really was too sexy for his own good, with those sinewy lines of his neck and the perfectly angled jawline and suggestive brows. He  _had_ to know that he was positively _biteable_.

His cheeks tinted pink and he reached up to scratch at his sideburn.

“Ehm… thank you?”

Oh, had she actually said all of that out loud? Whoops. But, well, she couldn’t really regret it when he gave her that kind of reaction.

“Shhh, you deserve it. You deserve it,” she mumbled, her index finger pressed to her lips as she swayed in place.

The man pursed his lips, appearing to try very hard not to smile, his dimples peeking out even with the corners of his lips tilted down.

In Emma’s mind, she was giving him the sexiest come-hither look ever. In reality, one of her eyelids was stuck halfway between open and closed, her skin was a little more than slightly flushed, and she was tilting her head a bit too far to the right, to the point where it looked unnatural.

“You got something for me?” she asked, slurring the words together so they came out in a nonsensical jumble. She didn’t notice, and then proceeded to bite down on the tip of her pinky finger – another gesture that didn't come across as intended.

“Aye, love,” he said, grinning widely and very clearly amused. He stepped forward and held the pizza box out for her. “I gotta say, I didn’t peg you for a pineapples-and-olives-on-pizza kind of woman.”

Pineapples and olives?

“Iz _zat_ what I ordered?” she asked, squinting at the box as she took it from him. Her short-term memory was a little fuzzy. Her decision-making skills were even fuzzier.

“Had a bit to drink tonight, love?”

As if to prove just how right he was, without sparing a moment to consider her actions, she lifted the pizza box vertically against her face to stifle her giggly snort. The pizza shifted inside as gravity forced it to bend over itself and she felt the delivery guy’s hands wrap around hers to force the box horizontal again.

“Perhaps you should go put that down before it becomes a mess,” he suggested, now appearing concerned.

But Emma hadn’t really been able to comprehend a single one of his words, too busy being captivated by his dreamy eyes and the way the brush of his fingers caused little sparks of desire to course through her. One of those brows lifted high on his forehead as he gazed at her and she could see his eyes flicker over her body.

Oh, he was _so_ into her. She was absolutely certain of it in that moment.

Which is why the pizza box upended and made a soft _thump_ on the hall floor as she launched herself at him, grabbing desperately at the collar of his unbuttoned polo. But she’d closed her eyes much too early, and though her lips and tongue sought his, what they found instead was something… rough and prickly.

Lips weren’t prickly. Logically, she knew that. Somehow, though, she couldn’t quite manage to wrap her head around that fact with all the alcohol clouding up her ability to think. Because it was warm and it _was_ definitely a part of Cute Delivery Guy and that was the important part.

“Th- uh- uh, Em- Miss…” he stammered, his hands grasping at her upper arms to forcibly detach her from sucking his – oh, it was his chin.

Close enough.

She did not understand that he was rejecting her advances, though (because there was no way he didn’t feel their connection, too) so she just grinned widely and shuffled back into his space, pressing her face to his chest and clinging to him as she wound her arms around his waist.

“Uh, look… Emma,” he began, attempting to once again push her away, this time requiring more effort on his part.

She stumbled backwards a little, only managing to keep her balance because of the man’s grip.

“Don’t get me wrong, you are without a doubt a very beautiful and appealing woman,” he continued, speaking so quickly that she had trouble understanding him. She smacked her lips as the room seemed to tilt on its side. “But you’re clearly drunk, love, and- and you’re… and I just- _whoa!_ ”

Emma squinted her eyes, blinking a few times as spots danced around the ceiling. She felt strong arms around her and was so _confused_ … why was she on the ground?

“Gods… how much have you _had_?”

She hummed in response, trying to shrug but failing, as her body was not particularly interested in taking orders from her brain. She must have collapsed, she figured, but everything just seemed so weird and gray and off-kilter all of a sudden.

 

* * *

 

 

What was it that she thought yesterday evening right before her first shot of tequila? That she would not give a fuck as to how she felt in the morning?

Horse. Shit.

Her head felt like it had ballooned to twice its size, the pounding and the pressure in her temples nearly unbearable. Her mouth was coated in a film of cottony slime that made her want to vomit. It felt like the acid in her stomach was burning a hole inside of her and she was seriously wondering if the pressure on her lower abdomen and back was from liver damage.

She was never, _ever_ drinking again.

“Hey, there, hot shot.” Despite the cheeky nature of his words, David’s voice was pleasantly low in pitch and volume, a soft and soothing sound if she ever heard it. She still groaned anyway, rolling on her side and peeling open her eyes to look up at him. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, smiling gently and holding a bottle of water out. “Drink. I’ve got some pain pills for you, too. The good stuff, not over the counter. Just don’t tell Mary Margaret I’m giving you my leftovers from when I had my gall bladder removed.”

She painstakingly sat up, almost in tears from the ache of her hangover, and silently took the proffered water and the pills he snatched from the bedside table, tossing them back slowly in an effort to not rattle her swollen brain. Then she leaned back against the headboard with a weak sigh, her eyes closing automatically.

“What time is it?” she mumbled, her head feeling so heavy and clouded. “Or… what _day_ is it?”

David chuckled lowly. “It’s Wednesday, 8:20 in the morning.”

“You’re supposed to be at work.”

“Yeah, well, I guess you probably don’t remember but I came over last night to make sure you weren’t gonna die. Slept on the couch. And I asked for the morning off just in case. You got yourself pretty messed up, you know. Why on earth did you drink so much?”

“Leave me alone… it’s your fault anyway. None of you would come hang out with me.” She managed to cross her arms over her chest in defiance, even though her eyelids were still too heavy to open.

David was quiet for a minute and she could almost hear him thinking.

“Oh, Ems. Was last night about…? Is that why you were so dead set on having us come drink with you?” She didn’t answer immediately, so David pressed on. “I’m sorry. I should have known… It’s barely been a few months since-”

“God, don’t say it, David.” She muffled her grunt of disapproval into a pillow that she buried her face in. “I don’t get it either. I’m _over_ him. Like, really, over him.”

“Hey, come on.” He dragged the pillow from her face and she managed to blink her eyes open, grateful that David hadn't turned her lights on and was using only the ambient light from his phone and her alarm clock to see. “You were together for a long time and it’s still a fresh wound. It’s okay that you’re not okay yet.”

She frowned sadly and he drew her into a gentle hug, cradling the back of her head comfortingly. It was a gesture he’d started when they were just two best friends getting through middle school together, a few years before the adoption papers went through and she officially became a member of his family. She sighed as she sunk into his embrace, wishing for once that he wasn’t able to read her so goddamn easily but also kind of grateful that he could.

She sniffled a little before murmuring into his shoulder, “It’s not that I miss him. I _don’t_. I just… I miss being part of an ‘us,’ y’know?”

“You’re lonely.”

“No, not… well. I guess. But it’s more than that. It’s… I put a lot into that relationship.”

“I know you did, sweetheart.”

“And clearly… I wasn’t enough.”

David pulled back and nudged her chin with his thumb. “You _are_ enough. It’s not any fault of yours that things ended up the way they did. That’s all on that scumbag.”

She sighed and spent a good minute trying to get that to sink in.

“I’m too tired and hungover to talk about this,” she finally grumbled, making David smile apologetically. “So… I vaguely remember… _part_ of last night. Did I drunk call you or something?”

David drew away from her with a grin that felt just a tad on the dangerous side, a sly little light in his eyes telling her she wasn’t going to like what he said.

“Actually, no. You collapsed on the pizza guy, apparently spent the next half hour spewing nonsense, and then passed out. He used your phone to call me after that. Said you’d been mumbling my name a couple times and he found it in your favorite contacts list.”

Oh god. _Oh god_. Her face fell and she immediately pressed her hands against the sudden flame in her cheeks.

She passed out on the pizza guy? _The_ pizza guy? The cute one that she… oh god. That’s right. She ordered a pizza last night for the sole purpose of luring him to her apartment and upon seeing him, made an utter ass of herself.

Did she… did she actually make out with his chin?

“Fuck. I remember now… shit.” She sunk down to the bed, wishing a hole would swallow her up and spit her out in the middle of the ocean where she could literally drown in her regret.

“Nice guy,” David laughed, cutting himself off suddenly when Emma cringed at the volume. He continued much more quietly. “I even got a free dinner last night since he didn't want you paying for a pizza that had gotten messed up in the box. Had to pick off all the pineapple, but it wasn't so bad. I think I judged him a little too quickly last time.”

“David, I attacked the poor guy. With my mouth.”

“Oh? He didn’t mention that.” He lost the teasing tone for a moment, but he couldn’t fight the smile from returning. “At least you didn’t puke on him?”

“Ugh. I’m moving to Canada.”

“Nice try. You like New York too much.”

She grumbled under her breath and pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to will away the memories. Most everything was still kind of fuzzy, but it was there. Why couldn’t she be the kind of person who blacked out and forgot their entire night when drunk?

“I’m never ordering pizza from them again.”

“Whatever you say, little sister. Why don’t you lie back down and sleep for a few more hours?”

“Yeah… sounds good. But go to work, David. I think I can manage to sleep without supervision.”

She adjusted herself back down on the bed, briefly and regrettably remembering how it had been the pizza guy who carried her there and _not_ her brother, and closed her eyes. David pulled her quilt up over her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“All right. Text or call if you need anything, okay?”

She hummed her agreement and then the exhaustion carried her right back where she wanted to be; completely dead to the world.

 

* * *

 

 

_Ping_!

A text alert sounded from the bedside table where her phone was laying. She’d been awake for a good thirty minutes but hadn’t yet mustered the energy to move. Those pills David had given her worked magic, since her pain was a thing of the past, but they also made her groggy and a little unfocused. Not high, exactly, just… off.

But the text was probably from David checking up on her and she figured she should assure him that she was still alive, at least. It was a slow process, rolling over and reaching for her phone. The screen showed her that it was just past noon, something she would definitely not have otherwise known with her blackout curtains and the way the medicine was fogging her sense of time.

She swiped the ‘unlock’ slider and squinted at the bright screen as she read: _1_ _New text message from **Killian**_.

Who the fuck was Killian?

**Killian:** _Just thought I’d check in on you. Feeling all right?_

She wracked her brain for some buried memory of the name _Killian_ but came up empty. One of David’s coworkers maybe? Or maybe it was David himself using someone else’s phone? Ugh, none of it made sense.

**Emma:** _i’m fine i guess, who is this?_

**Killian:** _Why don’t you guess?_

**Emma:** _idk who you think you’re playing with buddy but i am in no mood for guessing games_

**Killian:** _Apologies, love. You’re right, it’s poor form to badger a lady with a hangover._

Uh-oh. Love? She knew one guy who used that term of endearment.

**Emma:** _pizza guy?_

**Killian:** _I thought I was “cute” pizza guy?_

Oh god, it really was him. She’d hoped after her performance last night she’d never have to interact with him again. Her face flushed almost instantly as a blurry memory came of him lifting her from the floor and her saying something along the lines of, _“Rub your smell on my smell.”_ (What the hell had she even meant? Regardless, it sounded disgusting and she regretted ever opening her mouth.)

She was never going to live this down.

**Emma:** _oh my god, i am so sorry for yesterday_

**Emma:** _please forget it ever happened_

**Emma:** _i will never bother you again, i promise_

Her nerves fired off relentlessly as she waited for a response, biting almost painfully at her bottom lip when she saw those three damned dots appear and then disappear multiple times. It felt like several minutes before he replied, but it had barely been thirty seconds.

**Killian:** _Trust me, you are no bother at all._

**Killian:** _Actually I was more concerned that you’d see me as such._

**Killian:** _I did input my name in your phone without permission, after all._

**Emma:** _no, that’s fine. really. thanks for calling my brother_

**Killian:** _I couldn’t have possibly left you alone._

Oh no, Cute Pizza Guy –  _Killian_ , she amended, because now she _finally_ knew his name – was a gentleman. On _top_ of being ridiculously good looking, easy to talk to, and clearly the forgiving kind. She felt terrible for putting him in that position. Not only had her tongue come into contact with his well-manicured scruff, she’d also just passed the fuck out right into his arms after supposedly talking his ears off about god knows what. And yet somehow he hadn’t run for his life.

And he was actually making sure she was okay? What a saint. What a… gorgeous, hairy chested, face-like-sculpted-marble saint.

**Killian:** _May I ask how much of the night you remember?_

She squinted at her phone as he typed another message.

**Killian:** _It’s fine. Never mind._

**Killian:** _Doesn’t matter._

Shit. Was he thinking about her sloppily aimed face-suck or did she do something _else_ that she should be mortified for? Bless the man for giving her an out, but she had to know.

**Emma:** _oh god, what did i do?_

**Killian:** _Nothing bad, I promise._

**Emma:** _nothing bad? i seem to remember practically attacking you in my doorway…_

**Emma:** _sorry about your chin_

**Killian:** _I think I’ll survive. But no, I wasn’t referring to the kiss._

How kind of him to call it a kiss.

**Emma:** _just tell me. i can take it._

He did that thing again where he kept typing something and then deleting it. The more times it happened, the more it worried her. Surely it couldn’t be too terrible if the guy was still willing to talk to her, right?

She swallowed thickly, lips pursed as she kept pressing her finger to the touch screen so the brightness wouldn’t fade, the little remnants of the massive headache she’d awoken with earlier threatening to resurface.

**Killian:** _You were crying._

Her heart stuttered. Crying? As in, the tearful haze brought on by too much alcohol? Or… as in, drunkenly blubbering over her ex?

**Killian:** _I’m sure it’s not my place, but I just wanted to let you know, I entirely meant what I said last time about him not deserving you._

Of fucking course she was fucking crying because of fucking Walsh. God she was pathetic. She tried to think of a response, but was surprised when he sent several more in succession without wait time in between.

**Killian:** _And it’s fine to cry, I’m not at all trying to tell you to get over him right now. Take your time and mourn if you need._

**Killian:** _I can tell you from experience that alcohol doesn’t really do the trick, but support from friends and family helps._

**Killian:** _And, again, this may be completely inappropriate of me so let me know if I am out of bounds._

**Killian:** _But I thought maybe the next time you’re feeling down instead of drinking alone you might let me offer to cheer you up?_

**Killian:** _As a friend, of course._

Was he serious? After the shit she pulled he actually wanted to, like, _know_ her? She was still shocked that he hadn’t just called the police on her the night before for assaulting him.

She was torn.

On the one hand, she wasn’t sure that she should be playing with fire. Clearly, she had a thing for him. Maybe not like a _thing_ thing, but he was hot as hell and there was just something about him that made her feel… comfortable. How in the world she managed to decide this about him after meeting him thrice, while drunk, as he delivered her some fucking pizza, she wasn’t sure. But it was definitely a crush and she was definitely in trouble.

On the other, much more agreeable hand, she really could use a friend – one who didn’t know her too deeply and hadn’t seen the woman she’d been with Walsh for the past two years. Of course she appreciated the soft, understanding comfort from David and Mary Margaret; the ‘booze and sex’ approach from Ruby wasn’t so bad either; the rest of her good friends were also willing to coddle her if that’s what she needed. But it might be nice for someone to know just Emma; free from Walsh, free from the pity.

And maybe it was a huge plus that she might also get to know him, too.

**Emma:** _yeah, i’d like that, Killian_


	4. Chapter 4

**Special instructions:** _spook me!_

It had been nearly a month since Emma had gotten stupid drunk at home and thrown herself at the very attractive pizza guy whose name she now knew was Killian Jones.

Jones, as in, “Jones Bros. Pizza.” Literally his last name, and apparently a poorly executed cartoon caricature of his fucking _face_ , was on the logo on every pizza box she’d gotten from them and she’d had no idea. She hadn’t really given a flying fuck to the name of the place before; she just knew that they had a website, online ordering, quick delivery since they were located only a few blocks north of her apartment, and actually great tasting pizza that wasn’t hit-or-miss like the big chains.

With that revelation came another: Killian was not a delivery boy.

Well, he wasn’t _supposed_ to be one. He was co-owner of the place, along with his older brother, and only went out on deliveries if he was filling in for a sick employee, or if he needed a break from the atmosphere (read: his overbearing brother), or, as it turned out, if her name came up on the order list. (He’d been sick the night that his sister-in-law had delivered to her sober self; go figure.)

It had been a pretty damned good feeling to know she got special treatment. After their first encounter, he’d been “captivated” and felt “compelled to see her again” (his words) – yeah; sweatpants, HANGRY, hot mess Emma in all her broken-hearted glory. She sent him a middle finger emoji as a reply to that particular text message, assuming that he was being a sarcastic ass but somehow knowing that beneath it all he was probably sincere.

Cute Pizza Guy Killian Jones was a monumentally enjoyable texting partner. She sent poorly written, typo-ridden texts full of emojis and exclamation points, particularly when she was on a stakeout and wishing she were at home where binging on Netflix didn’t eat into her data plan. In return, he sent complete sentences with proper punctuation and preferred to send literal pictures of his expressive face instead of searching through the emoji list for the one that most matched the feeling he wanted to convey. It was infuriatingly adorable. And now she had a couple dozen of his selfies just hanging out in her photo album, which she may or may not have been tempted several times to get off to. (She hadn’t. Yet. It wasn’t off the table.)

She could admit it to herself: she had a _major_ crush. Who wouldn’t? He was hot, kind, funny, and he had a sharp, sarcastic wit that just about outmatched Ruby. And he was into her, for some completely unfathomable reason.

But the lingering embarrassment from latching onto his face and saying a slew of things she didn’t even remember and then collapsing on him… well, she’d just needed a bit of time to get over that. Hence, waiting an entire month before finally caving and ordering from them again.

Plus, despite her vow to never drink again, it was kind of impossible _not_ to drink when you’re hosting a Halloween party. For kids, Halloween was about costumes and trick-or-treating and eating so much candy you’re sick the next day. For adults, Halloween was about _sexy_ costumes and trying to rope all your friends into dancing to Thriller every single time the playlist came back around to it and _drinking_ so much you’re sick the next day. She wasn’t about to refuse Jell-O shots and whatever that Twix-flavored concoction was that Ruby made. So the liquid and gelatin courage sort of helped.

She was also really interested to see what effect, if any, her costume had on Killian. David sure didn’t like it – though she was entirely sure it was because the shorts barely covered her ass and her top was unbuttoned enough that her silky black bra and the cleavage it pushed up was blatantly on display, and not because she was basically mocking his profession with the costume choice.

But who cared what David thought? She was the sexiest cop ever and a grown-ass woman and he could deal. Besides, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been making inappropriate puns about his “sword” to Mary Margaret ever since his shift ended and he was able to join in the festivities – some “Prince Charming” he was. (Sexy Snow White didn’t seem to mind.)

She’d half expected to get a text from him before he showed up but her phone hadn’t made a peep before the door buzzed.

She navigated through the bodies of her friends, all varying in levels of sobriety, and did a quick turn-around in her entryway, gazing in the mirror at her long, exposed legs leading down to sky-high black heels, her curves hugged tight in shiny black hot pants and a blue collared police uniform shirt that was purposefully a size too small, hair pinned to the side with voluminous curls tumbling over one shoulder and a police hat sitting at an angle on her head. Silver handcuffs hung from the belt loop on her right side and she had a pair of water pistols (well, vodka pistols, if she were being technical) tucked into the pouches of the flimsy costume shoulder holsters that she was currently wearing the hell out of.

If she licked her fingertip and touched her ass, it would fucking sizzle.

With a deep breath, she smiled and turned to the door, then twisted the knob.

**_POP!_ **

Her whole body jumped backward and she let out a small squeak of surprise at the loud sound that she initially (understandably) believed for a few milliseconds to be gunfire. It was almost humorous that her reflex had her reaching to her hip for a gun that wasn’t there, while completely bypassing the fake guns in her shoulder holster.

But after the moment had passed, she realized with a great sigh of relief, and then an indignant scowl, that it had been a tiny little party popper that Killian he’s-lucky-he’s-cute Jones had set off.

“Sorry,” he laughed. “You asked for a spook and I’m afraid this is all I had on hand, love.”

She was about to berate him, had the words poised on her tongue, but then she got a good look at him and suddenly words not sense make.

Gone were the blue uniform polo and dark jeans. He was now decked from head to toe in black leather: long coat, high boots, even his pants (which she spent entirely too much time perusing). His shirt was thin and black with puffy sleeves, barely covering any of his blessedly rugged chest, and the only spot of color in his outfit came from the blood red waistcoat embroidered with delicate black flowers overtop, and the shiny bejeweled rings on his fingers. Ebony eyeliner was smudged beneath his eyes, making those electric blues pop. His hair was beautifully disheveled, as if wind-blown to perfection – or as if he’d been freshly fucked and hadn’t bothered to straighten himself out afterward.

(She’d be jealous if she really believed that to be true. If any woman was going to yank his hair while his face was buried in naughty places, she really preferred it to be her. Not that she had, like, _the right_. But.)

The sight of him in that stupid, ridiculous, fucking sexy as fuck costume was causing something to short circuit. It’s like she had become some insanely horny zombie or something.

 _Screw brains_ , she thought with a nearly audible hysterical laugh. She couldn’t help but imagine a decomposing zombified version of herself, one leg dragging limply behind her, clothes torn to shreds, a gaping wound at her ribs, and arms outstretched as she reached for him and groaned, “ _Coooock. Want eat your cooooock.”_

She quickly shook that thought from her head because 1) Ew, and 2) She was all too aware of the saliva pooling at the corner of her mouth. She subtly swiped it away as she licked her lips.

Then she realized that he appeared to be in his own version of the zombie trance. ( _Cuuuunt_ , he’d moan. Or was he more a “pussy” kinda zombie? Either way, it was a little ridiculous that even the thought of an undead Killian kind of turned her on.) His mouth was slightly agape, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek as his eyes traveled up and down her form. He spent more time on her legs than her half-exposed breasts, and she didn’t know whether that was just the gentleman in him or if he was more a legs-and-ass man. She’d make sure to find that out at a later time if at all possible.

But for now, she just visibly preened, hands on her hips, trying her best to be, for all appearances, a confident and flirty copper. Even if her panties were probably already slightly ruined from all this unasked for softcore pornography on her doormat. Or maybe it was just from the surprise. Yeah. Sexual shock. That was it.

(How many drinks had she had? She needed another.)

A flirty smirk and a quirk of one eyebrow hid her devolving train of thought, and she finally found her voice.

“You _do_ have the right to remain silent, Mr. Pirate, but…”

Her words seemed to shake him out of his trance and he grinned, all white teeth and a cocky swagger that she was pretty sure he was at least partly faking at this point.

“’Mr. Pirate’? Lass, I believe you mean…” He paused, tossing the popper into the hall trash bin and brandishing a shiny metal hook from his coat pocket, slipping the handle into his left hand and offering an arrogant sort of bow. “Captain Hook.”

She snorted. She had _such_ a crush on _such_ a goof.

“What, no perm and handlebar mustache? I’m disappointed.”

He just took a bold step towards her, biting his lip, his dimples deeply creased into his scruffy, perfect cheeks, and brushed a bit of her hair back with the curve of his hook.

“Disappointed?” He hummed in faux contemplation. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“You sound pretty confident.” There was no reason for him not to be. Damn.

His eyes betrayed him and strayed down her shirt for a few seconds, and she smiled at the light dusting of pink on his cheeks when he realized he’d been caught. God, what the hell was with this guy? Which was it – was he full of himself or was he a shy, blushing schoolboy?

He subtly cleared his throat and took a step back, his arm coming halfway up as if he were about to run his hand through his hair, but he stopped, fingers twitching slightly, and lowered it. Then he shrugged as nonchalantly as a man _totally faking_ nonchalance could, and gave her a crooked smile.

“I know when my efforts are appreciated, love.”

“Uh huh. And what of my efforts?” She took a step out into the hallway and slowly closed the door behind her to block out the noise and any possible intrusion from nosy friends, taking immense pleasure in the mixture of lust and panic crossing Killian’s features. “Are they appreciated?”

He let out a strangled sort of laugh and wiped a hand over his face, smiling behind his palm and blinking a few times as he reassessed her.

“Is that a good-“ She imitated his awkward, nervous laugh, causing him to flush an even darker shade. “- or a bad one?“

He rolled his tongue across the front of his teeth, clearly embarrassed, _definitely_ planning some future way to get back at her, she was sure. Maybe he would send her a shirtless selfie later and she’d end up drooling a puddle onto the floor.

“A bloody tease, you are,” he said, straightening. “You do look quite... lovely.”

“Just lovely?” She was enjoying teasing him way too much. It was probably mean.

“You look like sin incarnate and you know it.”

“Oh, I like that description. Better have them write that on my tombstone.”

He shook his head, chuckling quietly and taking a step back. Then he reached to the ground where he’d set his insulated delivery bag and lifted it by the strap, making a point to use his costume hook to undo the zipper on the side, because, _dork_. Although. If she were being honest, there was something oddly sexy about that hook. Or maybe it’s just because it looked good on him, with the whole getup.

She was gonna have some of the wettest dreams of her life about fucking Captain Hook and she wouldn’t really have it any other way.

“Big party, I’m assuming?” he asked, reluctantly shoving the hook accessory back into his pocket so he could maneuver the six large pizza boxes out of their warm sleeve.

She nodded, fiddling with the cuffs at her hip as she began to rethink the idea she’d had earlier to tuck the pizza money in her bra. Was that sexy or just trashy? It wasn’t like the bills were soaked with boob sweat or anything. At least she hoped they weren’t. She couldn’t take it back now, in any case.

“Yeah, we always do a big thing for Halloween.” She reopened her front door just enough to allow him to step in and put the stack on her accent table. “It’s always been my favorite holiday.”

Thankfully none of her friends seemed to notice or try to engage with him – all were too busy drinking, dancing, and causing a ruckus that she knew her downstairs neighbor would complain about – and he followed her back out into the apartment hallway.

“Why’s that?”

“Well as a kid, of course it was the candy. Made myself sick every year because I’d try to eat it all at once on Halloween night.”

“Would have been a better idea to save it, no?”

She shrugged, mentally going _uh-oh_ to herself as the words tumbled from her lips. “You can’t really save candy if you’re in a group home. The older kids liked to steal it.”

His double take was almost comedic and she might have laughed if she weren’t trying so hard not to cringe. Her (ex-)orphan status wasn’t exactly something she was proud of, and usually she waited until she’d known a person for a while before even considering bringing it up in conversation.

Damn that last Jell-O shot.

“You were in the system?”

“It’s not a big deal,” she lied. “I got adopted when I was a teenager so it’s all good. Don’t really need your pity or anything.”

“Ah, no. Sorry. Don’t misunderstand; I’m not pitying you. Just…” He scratched the tip of his index finger beneath his earlobe. “We’ve got a surprising number of things in common.”

Oh?

Like…

“What, you were an orphan or something?”

“Aye, for a short time.” _Oh._ Wow. He smiled apologetically. “Perhaps we can discuss it further at another time?”

“Right, of course.” She shook herself back into equilibrium. “You’re working. I’m keeping you.” No wait, that sounded weird. “I mean, I’m not _keeping_ you, keeping you just… like, you know, I’m holding you up. Delaying your return. Stopping you from…” He was grinning and she made an indignant grumble. “Just say something so I stop rambling.”

“Apologies. It truly is unfortunate that I have to get back to work.”

His hand snaked its way into hers and he gave it a squeeze before pulling it up to his face. Then his eyes lingered on hers for a moment before he pressed a feather-light, almost non-existent kiss to her knuckles. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel her heartbeat accelerate at the gentle brush of his lips and the tender scratch of his scruff over her skin. Did he realize just how much he affected her? He probably did, the asshole. The kind, beautiful, sweet asshole.

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Doing what?” He sounded entirely innocent as he released her hand. His cheeks were freckled with pink and rounded with a smile that he couldn’t hide.

She didn’t answer because then she’d have to outright tell him something like, ‘ _Uh, making my insides turn to goop? Duh?’_ Instead, she formally decided that the money-in-the-bra _was_ a sexy idea and she’d prove it to herself by making this sassy, shy, complete conundrum of a man turn into a lovely tomato.

“Oh, nothing,” she sighed, a bit overdramatically if she were really assessing her performance. Whatever. She was a bail bondswoman, not an actress. “I should let you get going.”

“Yeah, of course.” He sounded disappointed. Score. “Cash, right?”

“Yes. Cash.”

She didn’t take her eyes off him as she slowly, _oh so_ slowly, slithered her fingertips between her breasts. And, god, did that get his attention. He visibly and audibly swallowed as her index and middle fingers slipped underneath the fabric of her silky bra.

She took her time, swaying forward until they were practically breathing the same air, and then pinched the bills between her two fingers and drew them out. She heard his breath catch and saw his eyes darken, and was pleased beyond belief that the money was still relatively crisp and clean.

With as innocent a smile as she could muster, she shoved aside his coat and boldly maneuvered her hand around his torso, then tucked the bills into the back pocket of his smooth leather pants.

“Keep the change, Captain,” she murmured, her hand sliding to his chest and patting it once.

She spun on her heels and went back into her apartment without so much as a glance back, already quite confident in the effect she had on him.

And when she checked her phone a few minutes later, she was happy to see that he had texted her and even happier to see what he had to say.

 **Killian:** _Sin. Incarnate._


	5. Chapter 5

**Special instructions:** _tell me jokes, joke man_

Things were going great with Killian despite the fact that they communicated almost solely through text message. She’d spent nearly the entire first week of November out of state chasing a particularly sneaky skip and she was pretty sure the number of texts between them had fallen into the thousands by now.

They talked a little about their lives, just little tidbits about their likes and dislikes and the gossip from their respective friend groups. Emma liked crime shows; the less scientifically accurate, the better. Killian was into sitcoms. They both enjoyed reading but where Emma loved horror and suspense, mainly every book Stephen King had ever written, Killian was actually into sensual romance novels. (He’d only been slightly embarrassed to admit it.)

David and Mary Margaret were trying to get pregnant, and Belle and Killian’s older brother Liam _were_ pregnant; they’d practically just found out that she was 10 weeks along and Killian was psyched at the prospect of becoming an uncle. Ruby was getting over her recent heartbreak by beginning an interesting three-way relationship with a martial artist and a dog groomer, both women, both ridiculously head over heels for her. Killian’s buddy Will was inheriting a bar from his recently deceased boss. Regina and Robin were planning the most extravagant wedding ever, and by that she meant that _Regina_ was planning the most extravagant wedding ever and Robin was passively agreeing with all her decisions. And Killian’s best friend Ariel’s Etsy shop was booming; apparently handmade mermaid tails and shell bras were in surprisingly high demand.

They learned quite a bit about each other. Their friendship was blooming…

But mostly they flirted.

Some slightly risqué but not overtly pornographic selfies were shared between them on a fairly regular basis. One of him at the gym, his tank moist with sweat, his skin flushed, eyes bright, and the unmistakable outline of his (large, definitely large) cock beneath his sweatpants. One of her in her skin-tight red dress with as low a V-neck as she could possibly manage without the girls falling out, as she prepared to try to lure out the scumbag of the week. One of him licking the rim of his flask of rum, the quirk of his brow suggestive and downright naughty. One of her right after a shower, her hair damp and a flimsy towel tucked around her breasts as she gave the camera the sexiest bedroom eyes imaginable.

(She had gotten off to several of his pictures during the week – once, admittedly, in the front seat of her yellow VW Bug while sitting outside her skip’s girlfriend’s brother’s apartment in Portland, Maine – and she really was hoping, like one does when one is a _fucking creep_ , that he had done the same. In fact, the last time she’d brought herself to orgasm, it had been to the very thought of him taking himself in hand at her post-shower selfie and coming on the screen of his phone.

But that was neither here nor there.)

And, _oh_ , the banter. She could survive and thrive off of the way they teased back and forth. Even when it wasn’t full of innuendo, which it often was, it was just so much fun. It was stress relief. She didn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed talking with someone so much.

Just the day before they’d spent a good deal of the afternoon texting.

**Emma:** _so, pizza toppings. you know my faves, what are yours_

**Killian:** _Since when do I know your favorites?_

**Killian:** _You change your bloody order every time._

**Emma:** _ummm clearly my favorite is the all meat special?_

**Emma:** _it’s like you don’t even know me wtf killian_

**Killian:** _My sincerest apologies. I should have known how much you like meat._

**Emma:** _[eggplant emoji]_

**Killian:** _That’s not meat._

**Emma:** _[hotdog emoji]_

**Killian:** _You know, I’m beginning to think you’re alluding to something else._

**Emma:** _idk what your talkin bout_

**Emma:** _[rooster emoji]_

To her utter delight and intense amusement, his response to that had been a selfie of him holding a large stick of pepperoni sausage right in front of the fly of his jeans, mimicking... well. She nearly inhaled her lukewarm coffee when she saw it, choking on a laugh. His self-satisfied smirk made the photo all the more appealing, and she was _sorely_ tempted to crop the bottom part of the image where his pants were visible just so she could pretend he was really handling himself at work.

**Emma:** _looks delicious_

**Killian:** _Only one way to find out!_

**Emma:** _ok srsly tho whats your fave topping_

**Killian:** _Why? You plan on using this information for something?_

**Emma:** _why do you keep stalling? is it something to be ashamed of?_

**Emma:** _we’ve already established that i eat pineapple on mine when plastered_

**Killian:** _Not sure why anyone would be ashamed of their taste in pizza._

**Emma:** _what your all kumbaya about pizza cause you make em?_

**Killian:** _Sweet potato._

**Emma:** _what?_

**Killian:** _That’s what I like on pizza._

**Emma:** _??!?!?_

**Emma:** _is that a thing that people do??_

**Killian:** _It is and you should try it. I’ll give you a discount if you order it._

**Emma:** _ok but only if you also put all the meats on it_

**Killian:** _Done. I’ll give you all my meat._

**Emma:** _i hope it all fits in my mouth_

**Killian:** _If it doesn’t, you’re welcome to use your hands to help._

**Emma:** _be honest, how red are you right now_

**Killian:** _I’d prefer not to look in the mirror and check._

**Killian:** _Assume very red._

God fucking damn it, he was too cute for words. Which is why almost the instant she’d made it back to her apartment in New York, she went online and ordered herself a fucking all meat and (huh; it was actually on the toppings list) sweet potato pizza.

She’d simply added the special instruction in hopes of getting a little more banter, preferably verbal this time. The man already made her laugh and grin constantly from texts, and she wanted a little more of that up close and personal.

But really, she mostly entered it in because it was kind of their _thing_ now, for her to demand something from him in the special instructions box and for him to carry out her wishes.

“Knock knock!”

She paused the TV – a rerun of SVU that she’d only half been paying attention to – when she heard the words yelled through the door. Were his hands too full to just press the buzzer? No, wait.

Oh god, was he really doing a knock-knock joke? She grinned despite herself and strode over to the door, leaving it closed while she leaned in close and responded with the proper, “Who’s there?”

“Handsome.”

Well that went without saying.

“Handsome who?”

“Hand some money over and you can have your pizza.”

She snorted and opened the door, one hand on her hip as she tried not to look as excited as she really was to see him. He was smiling that big, toothy smile, puffing his chest out like he’d just delivered the joke of the century or something, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep her from losing focus, or from _laughing_ at his stupid joke because that was just too much. She wasn’t desperate.

At least she didn’t want him to _think_ she was desperate.

“Cute, but a little weak.”

He didn’t falter a bit. She could almost make out the twinkle in his eyes.

“What kind of person doesn’t like pizza?”

She sighed, but couldn’t hide the upward tilt at the corners of her lips. “What.”

“A weir _dough_.” His brows both lifted and he gave her an open-mouthed smile, like he was just _waiting_ for her to crack.

“Awful. I regret this already.”

“What do pizza and sex have in common?”

_I want both from you_ , Emma wanted to say. Instead, she rolled her eyes and huffed wearily, “Here we go.”

“Even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good.” Her lips pursed. “No? How about this: Once you smell it, you have to have a taste.”

“Ew!”

“It’s fun and messy?”

“Killian!”

“It leaves you warm and sated afterward.”

“Oh my god.”

She was secretly enjoying the hell out of this. Or not-so-secretly. Her cheeks were beginning to hurt and that was probably because she was smiling so hard and trying even harder _not_ to.

“You can have it on the couch, the bed, or the dining room table!”

_Yes, please, all of those things_ , she thought.

“Killian…”

“What’s the difference between a pizza and my pizza jokes?”

“Please stop.”

“My pizza jokes can’t be topped!”

“Ugh! “

“What, too… _cheesy_ for you?”

“I want to punch you.”

“Well I, for one, think pizza jokes are all about the _delivery_.”

“Get out.”

He belted out a laugh that made her want to wrap her fingers around the collar of his polo and pull him in for a hot, sloppy kiss. Damn him for being so charming even when spewing the worst fucking lines she’d ever heard.

“I’m afraid you brought this upon yourself, love.”

“Unfortunately.”

She reached up to tuck her loose hair behind her ears, and she didn’t miss the way Killian’s gaze followed the motion, his smile almost dreamy. She was proud of herself for not obsessing over what to wear in front of him this time, but she knew the distressed jeans and generic black t-shirt were flattering enough. Better than HANGRY, at the very least.

An unexpected, slightly awkward silence followed. Emma was torn on whether she should try to figure out a way to continue their banter (why was it so much easier through text message?) or if she should just get the transaction over with and let him get back to work. She wanted the former, but she was starting to get flashbacks from the rather pornographic daydream she’d had not two days ago and was feeling just a _little_ bit self-conscious.

God, she’d already made out with the man’s chin and made an idiot of herself. And they were openly flirtatious with one another. What was there to really be ashamed of at this point?

Ah. She realized moments too late that despite popping open a bottle of beer upon her return home, she had yet to actually drink more than a quarter of it. This was literally her first time physically interacting with him while sober. No wonder her heart rate was picking up and her words weren’t coming as easily.

Luckily, he was able to break the silence before this dilemma caused her head to split open.

“Ready to give it a go?” He lifted the pizza box, shaking it a little.

Right, she was trying his weird pizza.

“Yeah, hand it over.”

She went to place it back on the table in her entryway, fully planning on paying him and then trying it out on her own, but Killian seemed to have different plans, taking a step forward so he was hovering in her doorway.

“Ah-ah, I’m afraid I’ll need proof.”

“Proof?” Her face contorted into amused confusion. “Of what?”

“That you won’t just pick off the sweet potato as soon as I leave.”

“You’re serious.”

“Go on, try it.”

With feigned reluctance, Emma set the pizza box down and pulled the top open. She couldn’t vouch for the taste yet, but it sure was pretty to look at, with two perfect orange-brown circles on each slice amidst a sea of cheese and meat (which they had thankfully not skimped on in the least).

She carefully pulled one slice free, feeling genuine satisfaction at the long strings of mozzarella clinging to the sides and refusing to let go. After a week of living on chips, Ho-Hos, and not-quite-right Starbucks coffee, this was going to be like having mind-blowing sex after a long dry spell.

Probably not the best train of thought to be having right in front of the man she wanted to eat just as much as this fucking food art in her hands.

Was it possible for one to look sexy while eating a triangle of grease and flavor? She hoped so, because that was exactly what she was going for when she turned to him and slowly, thoughtfully took a bite, the slice folding on itself between her fingers and her teeth peeking out from behind her lips.

“Well?”

Killian seemed much too focused on her assessment to notice anything else. Oh well. At least she could prolong his nervous fidgeting by keeping her poker face as she mulled the pizza around in her mouth. Honestly, it was far better than she’d expected. The piping hot mixture of hearty, salty, and that little hint of sweet was winning her over. If she weren’t intentionally trying to make him suffer through the wait, she probably would have closed her eyes and let out a moan of delight.

Belatedly, she realized that that probably would have given her the sensual appeal she initially was going for. She lamented for the missed opportunity to see if she could give him a hard-on in the middle of her apartment hallway.

_Next time_ , _maybe._

She swallowed and ran her tongue over the front of her teeth, then her lips, eyes wandering as if she were truly contemplating the taste.

“It’s not…” She watched his face fall a bit. Could he look any more like a kicked puppy? “… _terrible_.”

His brows furrowed and the corners of his lips tilted down. “But it’s not good either?”

“I didn’t say _that_ ,” she crooned, a slow, teasing smirk lighting her features. When Killian visibly perked up, she couldn’t help but snicker. “It’s damn good, I admit. But then, so far nothing from the Jones Bros has yet to disappoint.”

“I’ll have to pass the message along to Liam,” he said, beaming.

She set her slice back down in the open box and wiped her hand across the side of her jeans, then reached for the bills tucked in the doorframe. He may have promised her a discount, but she still fully intended on paying him in full. He did, after all, turn her on a new topping.

He stared at the money when she held it out to him and did not move to take it. She thought for a moment he was going to argue with her on price, but instead she was surprised when she noticed him swallow and run the tip of his thumb over the pads of his fingers at his side.

“What?”

“Nothing, just… not hiding it in interesting places this time?”

Interesting places like between her breasts? She almost giggled, giddy and a little turned on that he would bring that up.

“Were you hoping I would?”

“Perhaps.” His accompanying shrug wasn’t quite casual enough, maybe a little on the dejected side.

Well, she certainly didn’t want to be the one responsible for dashing those hopes of his. The neckline of her t-shirt was too high for her to put it in her bra. Her only option was…

His eyes widened as she lifted the bottom of her shirt, revealing her bare abdomen just below her navel. She delicately tucked the edge of the bills right beneath her jeans and the elastic band of her panties at the jut of her right hipbone, and then let her shirt fall back down into place.

“So,” she began, coyly pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and invading his space, “I think I misplaced your payment. Care to help me find it?”

God she was really hamming it up, but she didn’t even care if this was starting to sound a lot like a cheesy (god damn it, there was a joke in there that Killian probably would have liked) porno that probably would have ended up with someone’s dick through a pizza slice (Killian’s) and someone’s mouth on the other side (hers).

(A very real part of her knew that she’d actually be down for that, and she hated herself for it.)

The visible spark of arousal in his expression and in the flare of his nostrils was quickly making her feel like she’d been tossed into a sauna. The tension between them was thicker than the air, warming her instantly and making her blood pump faster.

They were nearly chest to chest when he took one step forward, eyes dipping to her lips as she felt him tug the bottom of her cotton shirt. She released a shamefully loud breath, as if she’d been holding it in like some bodice ripper heroine, when his fingertips met her overheated skin. The muscles of her abdomen twitched.

She felt her hands _shaking_ as his nails lightly scratched her skin and they found their way under the waist of her jeans and underwear, sliding just out of reach of the money – and barely two inches right of and three inches above where she was steadily beginning to feel moisture seeping into the lining of her boyshorts.

His eyes flickered up to hers, pupils blown and cheeks flushed, as he snagged the bills and slowly slid them out.

She was about two seconds from hauling his ass into her apartment and fucking him senseless on literally any and every surface available, when giggly childish voices drifted from down the hall and caused Killian to hop away from her in a moment of panic. He cleared his throat loudly and glanced sideways at the two young girls that were walking arm in arm straight past them and laughing at something funny on one of their phones.

Emma puffed out an achingly long breath, then shook her head and chuckled. So much for getting her hopes up.

“Ah. Well. I guess I should…” He vaguely gestured toward the elevator, his eyes averted and ears redder than she’d ever seen them. She was going to bite those ears one of these days.

“Right, yeah. You probably should.”

But he didn’t. He just kind of stood there, awkwardly swaying from one foot to the other, indecision making his brows furrow and lift, fists clenching and releasing at his sides. Emma patiently waited for him to do something, leave or… _don’t_ leave.

Then, finally, he gave her a soft, honest smile.

“You… look lovely today. As always.”

Somehow of all the things they’d just done, his kind, sweet comment was what made her blush.

“Thanks, Killian. And you look…” Handsome didn’t quite cover it.

“I know,” he cheeked. Then he shoved the bills in his pocket, took a bold step forward, and laid a quick kiss against her cheek. She reached up to touch where his lips had been as he pulled away, looking very proud of himself. “I’ll text you.”

She nodded, dizzy and kind of annoyingly happy despite having been cockblocked by the kids who lived down the hall.

She squeaked a weak, “Yeah, okay,” at his retreating form, and he turned around just long enough to send her a poorly executed wink that was more a flashy blink.

After closing her door, she leaned back against it, hand pressed to her hammering heart. If she didn’t make this idiot man hers soon, she was going to implode.

_But until then_ , she thought, snagging her pizza box and returning to her couch where her beer sat on the coffee table. _There’s pizza, alcohol, an ever-growing album of Killian’s face, and masturbation._


	6. Chapter 6

_“Hey, it’s uh, it’s Walsh. I just thought I’d call and uh, check up on you. See how you were doing. I know this is selfish but… I miss you. A lot. Look, I know that things between us didn’t exactly end well and that- that’s my fault. I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have trusted her. Turns out she didn’t even want me, just my- my money. She stole a few grand and bolted and I just really- I should have known better. She’s always been like this, reeling me in when I least expect her to and then tossing me out like garbage when she gets what she really wants. I’ve always been weak when it comes to her and she used that against me, knew just how to target my soft spot. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this when I know I messed up. It’s just… I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, about us. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to give up what we had for that- that_ succubus _. I’m sorry, baby. Really. And I was just hoping that you might… wanna grab a bite to eat sometime? Maybe start over? Uh, yeah, so… that’s all. Give me a call okay? I… I still love you, Emma.”_

 

The _nerve_. The _audacity_.

Emma grumbled loudly before pressing the replay button for the third time in a row and downing the rest of her wine, glaring at her phone like the object itself was offensive.

God, why did she do this to herself? Why did she let him get under her skin even now? She was _done_ with him, so done, and had been doing extremely well adjusting and now with one damn voicemail she could physically feel the anguish from their engagement party resurfacing.

The man had no fucking right to call her and ask her out. What the hell was he even thinking? Did he _want_ to have his balls kicked up inside his own body? Because that would be the only reason she would ever agree to see him again; to make it so that asshole would never procreate and pass his douchebaggery on to another generation.

The message ended again and Emma sighed heavily. She wanted another glass of wine. Or, really, the whole bottle, and then several more. But the last time she got herself wasted at home… Well, bad decisions were made. Granted, those bad decisions led to her and Killian becoming friends (or whatever the hell they were) so she didn’t entirely regret that night. Now that she thought about it, she _had_ made him a promise that if she needed to vent she’d call him instead of drinking away her problems.

She set her empty wine glass on the coffee table and exited her voicemail box on her phone, her leg nervously bouncing as she began typing out a message to Killian.

**Emma:** _mind if i cash in on that offer you made a while back to keep me company so i dont drink myself into a coma?_

She knew from their text chain from that morning that Killian was off work so she didn’t bother ordering a pizza. If she had, she’d have put something a little less cryptic and a little more upbeat and flirty in the special instructions box. Like, ‘ _bail on work and have a beer with me_ ,’ or, ‘ _i can’t possibly eat a whole pizza by myself right now_.’ Semicolon, end parenthesis, etcetera.

In all honesty, she wasn’t really in the mood, though, for pizza _or_ flirting.

Her phone pinged a couple minutes later.

**Killian:** _What’s wrong? Are you all right?_

**Emma:** _idk_

**Emma:** _needing to vent tho if your free_

**Emma:** _if not its no big deal_

**Killian:** _I’ll be there in twenty, love._

She counted the minutes before his arrival, pacing around her apartment and attempting to straighten up while she waited. If this were another day, if she’d invited him over under different circumstances, she’d have made an effort to change out of her old yoga pants with a hole in the left knee and the oversized sweatshirt with _Storybrooke High_ _School_ and the dragon mascot printed over the chest. God that thing was so old… but so worn-in and comfy.

Her door buzzed after just seventeen minutes and she let herself smile a little at the thought of him speeding and weaving through the crazy New York traffic on that little black moped that he was entirely too proud of, just so he could get to her apartment faster. He _would_.

She made one concession to primping, which was to run her fingers haphazardly through her hair in front of the entryway mirror and pull it all over one shoulder. Then she opened her front door.

There he stood, just as handsome as ever in old Chucks, dark jeans, a black sweater, and leather jacket. His hair was in disarray and she wondered for a moment if the idiot had forgotten to wear a helmet. Perhaps she’d scold him for it later.

“Hey,” she said, offering the best smile she could, given her current state. By the sympathetic look in his eyes, she was certain she wasn’t fooling him.

“Hey,” he returned, his own smile tight. He lifted his hand and Emma’s gaze snapped to the bottle he was holding by its neck, an amber liquid filling it just over halfway.

“Rum? I thought the point of coming was so I _wouldn’t_ get drunk.”

“No, the point was so you wouldn’t get drunk _alone_.” He waggled those thick, expressive eyebrows of his and Emma couldn’t stop her almost relieved chuckle. It was amazing how he always seemed to find a way to put her at ease.

She stepped to the side to allow him in her entryway and he immediately toed his shoes off, laces still tied, and nudged them against the wall. It was close, but she managed to suppress her smile when she closed the door behind him.

“So…” She went to shove her hands in her back pockets to ease the awkwardness of her stance, but remembered a second too late that yoga pants did not have those. So that left her with her palms awkwardly pressed against her ass for a moment. Way to appear casual. ”Yeah, uh, this is my apartment. Living room, kitchen, dining. Bathroom’s over there and-”

“I know,” he interrupted, a lopsided smirk giving her a peek at his perfect row of teeth. “I’ve been inside before. For a decent amount of time, actually.”

Emma immediately blanched, then hung her head.

“Right… when I was hammered. How could I forget.”

“Well considering how much you had to drink, the forgetting would make perfect sense.”

She released a short breath, puffing her lips and cheeks out as she did, and quickly went to grab a couple of glasses from her kitchen. Killian made himself at home in that time, laying his jacket across the armchair and taking a seat on her couch – towards the middle, giving her no option but to sit close to him. Not that she minded.

After she set the glasses down on the coffee table and sat beside him, he poured a little in both while she nervously rubbed her hands together in her lap. It was kind of nerve-wracking, actually hanging out with him for an indeterminate, _not_ short, amount of time. And she wasn’t even drunk –  _yet_.

“So,” he began, passing her drink to her and swirling his own around in the glass, “From your text, I imagine something happened with your ex-fiancé?”

She snorted and took a quick drink. “I don’t even know why I’m bothered. It’s been so long. I’ve moved on. None of it should matter.”

“Hey,” he said, his tone placating as he nudged her shoulder with his own. She reluctantly turned to him, fully aware of just how tired she must look. “It took me over a year after my last breakup before I felt like I’d be able to pass her in the street and not break down, or throw myself into the nearest bar and drown my sorrows. It’s been, what, five months for you?”

“Yeah, just about.” She didn’t think she needed to add that it was easier to remember how long it had been because she’d mostly been keeping track of how long she’d known Killian.

“I know you may think you’re fine but you’re clearly not. It doesn’t make you weak, you know, that he still affects you.” She was about to argue that she _was_ okay, because clearly _that_ wasn’t a huge fucking lie or anything, but he continued without missing a beat. “And just because he does, doesn’t mean you aren’t ‘over him’ or haven’t moved on. He was important to you and he broke your heart and your trust. That’s bound to leave some scars, so to speak. Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting.”

Emma nodded slowly, taking another sip while she contemplated that. It’s not that she didn’t _know_ all that, logically. Walsh was hardly the first person in her life to let her down in one way or another. Most of her childhood was just one disappointment after the next. He wasn’t even the first man to break her heart, either. Though she’d had several boyfriends here and there, and a couple girlfriends in college, she’d rarely let anyone get close enough to hold any kind of power over her heart. ‘Love’ wasn’t a word she used lightly, and she’d been in love (or at least admitted to it) a grand total of three times over the course of her 28 years.

She kind of had a shoddy relationship history, she mused. But in all honesty, she really had never expected Walsh – the man who more often than not seemed to want to cling to her and sometimes shower her with affection to the point of it being overbearing – to cheat on her at their own engagement party. The thought never even crossed her mind, it was so unfathomable.

“So?” His voice jolted her from her thoughts and she blinked a few times. “May I inquire as to what he’s done this time?”

After taking a deep breath, she decided it was simpler just to play the message for him rather than explain it herself. She unlocked her phone and set it on the table, pressing speakerphone and keeping her face as neutral as possible while her ex’s voice filled the otherwise silent apartment, once again telling her how sorry he was, how his ex was basically at fault for his shitty behavior, how he wanted to go out with her again as if nothing had changed, how he still ‘loved’ her.

The silence that followed was expected, but still a little uncomfortable. It felt like Walsh was making a fool of her all over again. Emma pursed her lips, her cheeks warming from anger or mortification or just plain self-loathing. It was suddenly a little hard to swallow.

“Ugh. I think I need some air.”

She took her drink with her and escaped through the sliding door onto her balcony. It was a pretty large space, all things considered – worth the outrageous price of her apartment. She had some nice patio furniture, a little table with an acrylic glass top and a lounger with chunky red cushions. But she stood over at the railing, leaning over and taking a drink while she stared down at the city below.

A few deep breaths of the cool autumn air helped calm her a little. She lived on the twentieth floor of her building; though the sounds of sirens and honking and the occasional shout echoed up and between the buildings, the air was blessedly clear. Even the scent of her neighbor’s usual cigarette smoke was absent tonight, a rare luxury.

The door behind her slid open again and she didn’t turn, just waiting silently for Killian to do… whatever he’d do. At this point, she really expected nothing but kindness from him. It was weird how much she trusted him not to judge her.

There was a gentle clink against the table, and then a second later she was engulfed in warmth. Killian wrapped a thick blanket around her shoulders, one he probably snagged from the back of her couch. She grasped the ends in one hand, holding it to herself like a cape, keeping her drink in the other. He hovered behind her for a moment and she held her breath as he gently leaned forward, bringing her back to his chest.

“He’s a prick,” he said, and Emma released her breath in a soft, humorless laugh.

“Yeah. I’m well aware.” She pressed back against him and he tentatively brought his hands to her waist.

How terrible it was that she was in such a mood that seducing Killian didn’t seem even slightly appealing? Here he was, coming to her apartment to comfort her about her ex despite the fact there was some unspoken _thing_ between them already, holding her at sunset with the sky all pink and orange and the buildings just reflecting it all in this beautiful haze, and she couldn’t even scrounge up the tiniest bit of energy to flirt.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“You heard the message. Not much else to say.”

“Mm.” She felt his head turn, felt him press a kiss into her hair behind her ear. It was almost embarrassing how quickly she melted into him, sighing and tilting her head so it was laid back against his shoulder. “Well I certainly won’t force you. But I know a thing or two about keeping things bottled up. It always helps to get it out.”

After a few moments of silence, her head spinning from considering everything she was keeping in, including a few long-buried things that were coming right back to the surface, she finished off her drink in one gulp and sighed. She trusted Killian, enough to seek his comfort in her time of need. She could easily have asked David or any number of her close friends, even. But she hadn’t. It had to mean something that she was in _his_ arms right now.

“I don’t know what to say exactly…”                 

“I’ve got all the time in the world, Emma. Tell me anything you wish. Doesn’t have to be about your ex, if that’s what you prefer. I’m all ears.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

_Anything_ , she thought. How could she explain to him how Walsh’s cheating reopened wounds from her past, an ingrained fear of abandonment, a fear that she’d leave the world someday the same way she entered it: alone, unwanted, and struggling to find home.

God, what a depressing train of thought.

“So… you know I was a foster kid,” she started hesitantly.

“Aye, you’ve said.”

She paused for a minute, wondering how to brave that subject. She idly rotated her empty glass in her hand a few times until Killian noticed and took it away, setting it down on the table behind them. He sat down and poured them both another, beckoning her over to join him. She sat close and laid the blanket across them both, pulling her legs beneath her and leaning into his side.

“I was in the system as far back as I can remember. I was adopted as a baby and then given up again after I turned three, but I don’t really even remember that family,” she said, taking a sip while Killian rested his arm behind her. “I think I was eleven – twelve maybe? – when I really thought, ‘I’ll never be a part of anyone’s family.’ No one wants the older kids, you know? My time had passed. So at that point, I was just trying not to let things get to me. I lived day to day and didn’t think too much about where I was, cause I knew I’d wouldn’t be there for long.

“I was fourteen when I met David. I’d just moved into a new home and he was the first kid I met in my new school. I didn’t know why he so easily accepted me as his friend… I mean, I know now. He’s just a genuinely nice guy, and according to him, he ‘saw something’ in me. Whatever, I won’t get into our cheesy sibling relationship. The point is, he stuck with me and we became pretty great friends.

“Eight months later the foster parents I was with had a sudden and pretty hostile divorce, and I thought I’d have to move again. But I guess at the last minute David convinced his mom, Ruth, to take me in. I don’t know how they managed to get the paperwork through so quickly. It was weird… people going out of their way to help me. I wasn’t used to it. I really did try in the beginning to act like I was worthy of all the trouble they were going through. Months and months went by, and then… then I saw the adoption paperwork sitting in Ruth’s room. And I guess I panicked.”

Killian was quiet, just drinking and watching her profile. She felt his fingers through the shoulder of her sweatshirt. It was a relatively warm night for November, but it was still unpleasantly chilly. The drinks were warming her from the inside out, but she appreciated his body heat. And, more importantly, she appreciated how he listened.

“I shouldn’t have. I should have been jumping for joy. But I’d been adopted before and in the end it hadn’t made a difference… So I just had that voice in the back of my head telling me that it wouldn’t last. I was so afraid of being abandoned again, that it would hurt worse this time because I was getting invested in the idea that they might love me. You’d think I’d try to be on my best behavior, walk on eggshells even, but no… No, I pushed them. I acted up, trying I guess to pull a power play and make them admit that they didn’t really want me in the first place. It was so stupid. Looking back, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, testing their resolve to bring me into their family.

“I got involved with a few… we’ll say, unsavory people. I knew they were trouble and that I wasn’t really doing myself any favors, but I liked that they all seemed as messed up as I was. I felt like I kinda belonged with them. I’d skip school and meet up with them and we’d get high or drink cheap alcohol, or when they were bored we’d go steal stuff and pawn it. Jewelry, usually. I got pretty good at pick-pocketing back then, too. I did so much stupid, petty shit, and then…” She cut off and took a deep breath. Killian’s thumb moved gently back and forth against her shoulder and she cleared her throat and went on. “Then I did the stupidest thing… I fell in love with one of them.

“Neal was… a lot. I mean, I’d just turned sixteen and he was twenty-one, so obviously my idiot brain was like, really excited that this cool, older guy was into me. It hadn’t even occurred to me to be cautious or to wonder why he was interested in someone so much younger than him. Especially because he always talked about us being so alike and that he could sympathize with me because of his own crappy childhood as an orphan. He made it out like we were meant to be, two kindred spirits, and I ate it all up. I thought that he, of all people, would never abandon me because he knew what it was like.”

The effects of the alcohol were kicking in and she was grateful for it. Over a decade had passed since then, but it was still painful to think of even now. But with her muscles all relaxed and a gentle buzz forming, she found it so much easier to speak of it. She finished off her drink and set the empty glass on the table, then shifted, turning towards Killian for a moment before planting her feet in his lap and lying back against the cushions. He adjusted the blanket, leaned back, and began to rub one of her feet through her sock.

“I take it he didn’t live up to expectation.”

“He fucked me, then fucked me over.” She sniffed, the prickle behind her eyelids thankfully subsiding before any tears fell. Killian’s grip on her foot tightened. “See, I had a pregnancy scare. Neal freaked out, told me there was no way it was his kid even though I’d never been with anyone else. And then he bolted, leaving me to deal with it on my own. I was terrified and alone and I made the decision to swallow my pride and go beg Ruth and David for forgiveness and _hope_ that they would let me stay. And… they did. I mean, without question, without consequence. They hugged me and cried with me and just… taught me what it was to be part of a family. I don’t even know where I’d be now if they hadn’t been there for me.

“Days later when they took me to the doctor, we found out I’d been worried over nothing. I hadn’t thought to get more than one cheap drugstore test, and it ended up being a false positive. I was relieved, but… still heartbroken. I only really got past it when the adoption finally went through. I cleaned up my act, got my grades up… Then, before I knew it, that part of my life was over and I was off to college with David.”

“He seems like a really stand-up person, your brother.”

“Yeah, he is. Overprotective and overbearing, yes. But he’s good, through and through. He makes a good cop. Much better at it than I ever was. It’s the kind of profession that suits-“

“Whoa, whoa, wait,” Killian interjected, dropping her foot and staring at her, wide-eyed. “I’m sorry, repeat that last bit?”

“What? What part?”

“You were a cop?”

“Oh. Yeah. I hadn’t told you that?”

He slumped back and let out an incredulous laugh before going dead silent, his expression unreadable.

“That wasn’t your old uniform you wore at Halloween, was it?”

She laughed. “Oh yeah, the booty shorts, busty top, and four-inch heels were standard back then. Very practical.”

“Well you certainly wouldn’t have to chase down any criminals. One look at you and they’d fall to their knees, begging you to cuff them.”

Her head shook and she lightly kicked at his arm, trying to keep her giggles down. The rum was really loosening her up. Or maybe it was just as Killian had said – maybe talking about her past _was_ helping.

“You’ve already seen some of the stuff I wear to catch skips. It works right up to the moment they realize I’m there to arrest their ass, then the struggle begins. Not once have I had a guy throw himself at my feet knowing I’d turn him in.”

“Fools.”

“Their sense of self-preservation is surprisingly stronger than their sex drive.”

“Really, though, you as a cop? I can’t imagine it.”

“I was only on the force for a year. I think I just went into it because it’s what David was doing. We spent four years in college together, then he said he was going to go to the police academy so I tagged along, too.”

“So you just realized it wasn’t for you and you quit?”

“Yes and no.” He raised his brows in question and she sighed, feeling a little awkward. “It was kind of a response to heartbreak…”

A little shift and he turned so he was facing her better, her feet still resting in his lap and her knees bent, the blanket and alcohol and physical contact of his fingers through her socks keeping her warm. Always attentive, this man. She had half a mind to drag him down beside her, but for now she appreciated the comfortable distance between them. It was getting dark out, but the city lights and those shining through her sliding glass doors kept his features alit.

She struggled for a few seconds to start.

“Graham was the polar opposite of Neal. He was kind of a stickler for rules and as his partner, I learned pretty quickly that he’d chosen the profession because he really, truly wanted to help people. He believed in the dream, you know? Wanted to make the world a better place. Or our little section of New York at the very least. I wasn’t as bright and optimistic as he was. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy what I did, I just despised the fact that I was treated like ‘the rookie.’ I mean, condescended to big time, and then there were the added problems of working beneath men.”

Killian opened his mouth and Emma shushed him with a jab of her foot in his gut before he could make that dirty joke. He made a dramatic _oof_ , followed by a cheeky laugh and she snorted and shook her head, pointing her finger accusingly.

“Uh-uh, mister. No innuendo over workplace misogyny. My boss was one of them ‘good ol’ boys’ and I was always _just_ on the cusp of punching his lights out. Graham made the job bearable for me, gave me something to look forward to when I was struggling to follow chain of command. He was kind and smart and _annoyingly_ handsome, which I hated. I tried really hard not to develop feelings for him. Seemed like a bad idea to get involved with someone I worked with, and a worse idea to open myself up again to the very real risk of getting hurt.

“But… then he made the first move. And I… ugh. I was crushing hard enough that I didn’t even try to stop him. It was like magic, he said. We just clicked. I let myself fall in love, and it was… amazing. I was happy. _We_ were happy… until he…”

She trailed off, eyes fluttering as Killian worked his thumbs in the arches of her feet. Damn him; she didn’t know whether she was relaxing or getting worked up.

“And?” Killian finally asked, after a full minute of silence had passed. Emma looked down at him, his eyebrows pinched in concern. “What happened? He didn’t… He didn’t die, did he?”

“God, no. No, life happened. For him, that is. We’d been dating in secret for seven, eight months when he got a call from his home in Ireland. His mother’s health was declining and she could no longer manage their family’s small-town centuries-old tailoring business, so she begged him to come back and take over. He’d talked about it a lot before, that he wasn’t going to inherit because he was living the life _he_ chose for himself… but it’s like that one conversation changed everything. He said he _had_ to go, that he was the only one who could do it.

“And I guess maybe I couldn’t understand because of the way I grew up, but for him to just drop his whole life, everything he had ever worked for, for a business he hadn’t even wanted? It seemed so out of character for him. I was confused and hurt that he was letting go of his dream of saving the world and helping people so he could, I dunno, re-hem pants?

“And he asked me to come with him. He basically asked me to leave the only home I’ve ever really known, to say goodbye to my family and friends, and move from big city New York to the Asscrack of Nowhere, Ireland with him. When I asked what the hell he expected me to do there, he said – _god, I can’t believe he said this_ – he said that I didn’t have to do anything. We could live together and I could just relax at home while he worked, that he’d take care of me.

“Obviously, I told him to kindly keep whatever drugs he was on far away from me. Things between us became really strained. It was weird; I was hoping until the very last moment that he’d change his mind, come to his senses, that we could work things out. But I wasn’t as important to him as his family, and he certainly wasn’t more important than mine. So that was it. He went home and left me behind…

“I resigned a few weeks later. I realized it was shitty of me to judge him for his choices when I, myself, was doing something I didn’t actually want. So here I am now, working for myself. Didn’t like the weight of the badge anyway.” Killian had a crease between his brows, clearly trying to process everything. She didn’t like that look; too serious. The corner of her lips tilted upward and she quickly added, “The cuffs, on the other hand…”

It worked; he breathed a short laugh and grinned.

“You’re giving me palpitations, love.”

“You’re a very hot dork, you know that?” He ducked his head. Emma wasn’t sure if his red-tinged cheeks were from embarrassment or from the alcohol. She shook her head softly, glancing up at the underside of the upstairs neighbor’s balcony. “Anyway. It’s not like my life is in shambles. I’ve grown up, learned a lot. I’ve made a lot of wonderful friends who I trust implicitly to have my back. My adoptive mother is the purest soul I’ve ever known. I’m loved. And I know that. But just… you know, sometimes when shit happens, like the Walsh thing, old fears kind of come back to the surface. I get stuck in this mindset of like, everyone leaves at some point because I’m not enough for them. So I guess me being emo right now is less about this one relationship getting burnt to a crisp, and more about my overall terrible track record with love and relationships. It’s dumb, really.”

“It isn’t dumb, love. I understand. Our past doesn’t define us, but it doesn’t go away, either.”

“Thanks.” She released a slow breath, puffing her cheeks. “God, sorry for the word vomit.”

“What you so eloquently call ‘word vomit’ is really just sharing bits of yourself with me. It’s letting me get to know you better. And I am rather fond of the idea of knowing you, Emma. So don’t apologize.”

Her feet wiggled in his lap and he bit back a laugh as his fingers began working over her muscles again, and she sighed, eyes drawn to the shadows of his dimples.

“You know, I think it’s only fair that I get a little Killian Jones history lesson, since you’ve gotten the full Emma Swan experience.”

“I’d argue that second point, love. I think there’s plenty more of you to experience.”

Those brows waggled and she pressed her hand to her mouth to muffle a laugh. Yes, of course, she fully intended on rectifying that. There was obviously no question about whether it would happen – merely a matter of _when_. Sooner rather than later, she hoped, but not tonight.

“Come on,” she said, eyes shining. “Tell me stuff about you. Like… I don’t know. How did you and Liam end up running a pizza joint in New York? Or something.”

“Do you want the long story or the short one?”

“Long.”

“I was born twenty-eight years ago, on February the twelfth, weighing seven pounds five oun-“

She kicked him lightly in the ribs. He fake winced, then chuckled. The poor man had suffered many of her kicks tonight; he’d probably earn himself a few more yet. “Smartass. I don’t need your whole autobiography. The important bits, please.”

“All right, all right. The medium-length story, then?” She nodded and he leaned sideways, laying his temple against the back cushion. “Hm. Well. What kid doesn't love pizza, right?”

“A childhood dream, then?”

“Not precisely.” He hummed, as if contemplating how to phrase it. “Liam wanted to be a businessman when he grew up… like Brennan, our father. But honestly, I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to be when I was young. Mum said that was okay, that I’d figure it all out someday.” His eyes didn’t stray from hers, but there was a hazy look to his gaze, like he was lost in a memory. “She was brilliant, our mum. Elisabetta Maria Rossi-Jones.”

“Italian?” she asked, her lips tilting up. Killian nodded, his teeth peeking out of a soft smile.

“Aye, though she grew up in England. My grandparents had had some kind of falling out with the family a few years before she was born. There were objections to their marriage. But anyway… there’s no taking Italy out of a person, no matter where they go, and Italian food was always a staple in our home. Damn, I miss Mum’s cooking.” A few puffs of laughter escaped his lips. “We helped her in the kitchen all the time, as far back as I can remember. And, yeah, sometimes we’d make pizza. I always liked kneading the dough.

“I… I think the first six years of my life were fairly normal. Brennan was rarely ever home. Always off on business trips, so I didn’t really know him back then. It was just me, Liam, and Mum. And, uh, and Mr. Smee.”

“Mr. Smee? Was that your cat or something?”

“Ah, no. Mr. Smee was our… caretaker. Took care of the home, drove us around, looked after my brother and I when he needed to… that sort of thing.”

“Sounds like a butler,” Emma joked. When Killian ducked his head, the flush in his cheeks deepening, she gaped. “Oh… he _was_ a butler. You had a butler. Oh my god. Killian, were you a snobby rich kid?”

“Oy, please. I… yes, we had money. Mum’s parents had been well off and left her an inheritance, and Brennan kept more rolling in, but- _but_ , I was never snobbish. At least I hope I wasn’t.” Emma could only laugh incredulously, but she calmed down seeing the frown tugging at his lips and let him continue. “ _Anyway_. Things changed. I was young and didn’t know what was going on at the time between my parents, but I found out years later that their marriage had become strained nearly to breaking point because of his constant absence. Mum… she didn’t have to make the sacrifices she did, but I think she was desperate to keep our family together.

“So we packed up and left our home in London, and followed Brennan Jones around the world wherever he needed to be for his ‘business.’ It was difficult to adjust. The culture shock hit us hard for a while, you know, trying to get used to living in entirely new environments every few weeks or months. We tried to continue on as usual, but some things just… changed. Our studies changed. School was impossible with us moving around so much, so we had to get private tutors.”

“This is kind of blowing my mind right now.”

Killian laughed, but it was a self-conscious sound if she ever heard one. “It really wasn’t a big deal. We had our classes just like everyone else, and hated them, just like everyone else.”

“Still. It sounds so fancy. Did you take piano lessons?”

“What?”

“Piano lessons. Cause… rich. That’s a thing, right? I think that’s a thing.”

“I really want to tell you no…”

“You totally took piano lessons.”

“It was… one of a variety of instruments I was taught to play. But that isn’t important.”

“I find men who can make music incredibly sexy, but you’re right. Not important at all. Continue.”

His lips pursed together briefly, his eyes smiling. “Duly noted. Very, extremely noted. With a few red circles drawn around the note. Do I get extra points for being a decent singer?”

She bit her lower lip through her returning smile. “All the points,” she said, and he did a small, adorable fist pump.

He cleared his throat and went on, “Right, where was I? Oh, changes. Mr. Smee left. We rented properties out wherever we happened to be. Usually it was hotel suites. Never formed any real attachment to the new rooms, new views. We became sort of… isolated abroad. Hard to make lasting friends when we never stayed long. In some ways, though, I think we grew closer as a family, despite the fact that Brennan joined us for perhaps three meals a week, and the times he _was_ home, his face was glued to the screen of his computer. He wasn’t any more of a father to us then than he had been before. And he may as well not have been Mum’s husband, either.”

Emma was stricken by just how different his tone became when speaking of his mother versus his father. There was a reverence and nostalgia and happiness for the former; the latter held the sharp note of contempt. She reached out, wiggling her hand beneath the blanket until he took the hint and laced their fingers together.

“We still cooked together, but sometimes we stayed in locations where we didn’t have a fully functional kitchen, or we couldn’t find the particular ingredients we needed in stores – we were foreigners wherever we went, and so was our cuisine. But you know what we noticed after a year of exploring a dozen new cities?”

Emma was about ready to sit up and kiss him just for the bright, starry look in his eyes. “What?”

“Every place we went, they had their own spin on pizza. They took this standard Italian recipe and just… made it their own. Used their own spices, different textures and flavors, toppings I’d never have even considered before. It was a slice of home, if you’ll forgive the terrible pun-“ Emma snorted and Killian shrugged with a cheeky grin. “-and new experiences all wrapped into one.”

“Where all did you go?”

“Oh, all over. India, Spain, China, France, Mexico, Japan… the US, too, and a few other places. We jumped back and forth between locations fairly often. New York became special the first time we came. I was eight or nine years old at the time and found it… magical. I know that sounds cheesy, but it’s how I felt.”

“No, no, I get it. It’s that way for me, too. Just something about this place…”

“Aye, just something about it. Every time we came back, I loved it more and more. It became my favorite. I admit I allowed myself to become attached, even when I knew we’d never stay long. I knew Mum and Liam felt the same. Perhaps if things had been different, we may well have settled in New York back then...” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his brow set in a hard frown. “I suppose it wouldn’t have mattered in the end, anyway, with the way things turned out for us...”

He quieted for a few long moments, staring down at her knees.

Emma knew, _had_ known for a while now that at some point, he and Liam had been put into foster care. It’s that little something extra in common with her that Killian had mentioned before. But she didn’t know how he became an orphan, what happened to his parents – to his mother, whom he clearly loved and missed, and to his father, whom he seemed to despise even now.

And of course she was curious, but now that she realized just where this story of his was going, she felt guilty for prying to begin with.

“You don’t… you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she said, squeezing his fingers.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t mind. It’s just been a while. I think the last person I talked with about this was my therapist, and I haven’t seen him in… Gods, must be over two years now.” With a nonchalant shrug, then a deep breath that counteracted that nonchalance, he delved into his worst memories. “I won’t burden you with the details, but Mum passed away rather abruptly. We happened to be back in England at the time, which was lucky for Liam and me… given that Brennan just lost it. It wasn’t that he was hurt she was gone; he was just aggrieved that the burden of caring for two sons was thrust onto him when that was _not_ in his life plan.

“So barely a week after the funeral, he bolted. Left the country. Left my brother and I in our old, dusty, empty house, and never looked back.”

“Oh, Killian.” Emma sat up, drawing him closer with a tug. He complied, letting her wrap her free hand around his neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well. It’s in the past.”

“Still, I can’t even imagine…” He let his head fall to the crook of her shoulder for just a few moments before drawing back, looking a little worse for wear.

“Liam had just turned fifteen and I was twelve. We hadn’t even had time to truly mourn for our mother, it was so chaotic. Brennan’s relatives were all, unfortunately, very much like him, and they outright refused to take us in. So, into the system we went.”

Emma could feel the blood rising to her face. He _had_ family and they didn’t even bother to help their own? She wondered whether that was worse than not knowing any family at all. She brushed his bangs away from his face and he smiled easily.

“We didn’t do so well being in foster homes, but it was lucky for us that after just a year, we were put into contact with distant relatives back in Italy. And three months later, a very kind cousin moved to England to care for us in our own childhood home. In the years we stayed with him, he became more of a father to us than Brennan ever was.”

Killian’s face went all calm and relaxed, like he was reveling in the memories. Emma pulled his hand to her and rested her chin on his knuckles, listening intently.

“His name’s Nemo. You know, like _20,000 Leagues_?” He chuckled to himself. “He’s actually the reason Liam and I are where we are. He shared parts of our Mum’s culture with us, and encouraged us to do things that made us happy. And… honestly, what made me happy were things that reminded me of her. I’m not sure when the idea sparked to go into culinary school, but he supported me in it, one hundred percent. And Liam, in spite of Brennan, still wanted to go into business. It made sense to do something together, and once we decided to bring together all the different experiences we’d shared with our mother…” He gestured vaguely to the glimmering city lights. “We came back to this special place, and decided to make something Italian, something American, and something… worldly.”

“And thus the birth of Jones Brothers’ Pizza?”

He nodded, flexing his fingers and twirling strands of her hair around them. “We were the beneficiaries claimed in Mum’s will, so we had more than enough to get a business off the ground. Opened up nearly six years ago now. Our first employees were Belle and Ariel, and I know if it weren’t for them, our transition wouldn’t have gone so smoothly. They were a brilliant help, and very good friends to us. It was a blessing to have Ariel see me through the rough patches and eventual breakup with my ex, too.”

“Right… the married woman?”

“Looking back, you know… I’m not sure why I put so much trust in someone who supposedly traveled for work all the time. It was eerily similar to the situation with my parents.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“Maybe. Ariel tried to inspire a bit of caution in me so many times…“ It was a relief to see that the memory wasn’t affecting him too badly. He had a gentle, untroubled smile in place. “But I don’t regret it. I learned from that relationship. And… for what it’s worth, I was happy with her for a time.”

Emma nodded, feeling a certain understanding after spilling the tales of her own failed relationships. Then she stretched her arms high and collapsed back against the cushions, her feet still resting in his lap. She was still a little tipsy from her earlier drinks, so the motion made her head spin for a moment.

“I like this,” she said, shoving a hand beneath her head. She wiggled her toes against his thigh and he jerked when she accidentally found a ticklish spot. He responded by wrapping a hand around each foot and squeezing them still, and she laughed under her breath. “Getting to know more about you, I mean. I know we text all the time, and don’t get me wrong, I really super enjoy that more than you know, but this… hanging out, you know… it’s a pretty nice change.”

“Oh, Swan, I have never agreed with anything more.”

“I don’t suppose… we could maybe do this more often?”

He smiled gently and Emma could just kiss those crinkles beside his eyes. “Anytime, darling. And you don’t even need to use your ex as an excuse to invite me over next time.”

Emma just knew he’d earn himself another of her kicks this evening, and she was right. He managed to keep ahold of her foot, though, so she only managed to hit air.

“So violent,” he chided, grinning.

“Well _hopefully_ , I won’t have any more trouble on that front. I’m gonna delete that message and block the number and if he tries to contact me again, I’ll… I’ll…”

“Tell him to bugger off?”

“I was gonna say leave a bag of shit on his doorstep or something, but you’re idea sounds less childish and petty so we’ll go with that.”

The husky sound of his chuckle was soothing and she shut her eyes, feeling exhaustion creep up into her bones. He shifted, his hands rolling her legs away as he wedged his body sideways between hers and the back of the lounger. She rolled to accommodate him, tugging the warm blanket up to their chins and allowing Killian to wriggle one arm beneath her head.

It was lucky that it was dark out, because Emma just knew that lying nearly nose-to-nose with him was causing her cheeks to tinge red. This casual sort of intimacy was almost as satisfying as the thought of dragging him to her room and letting him _really_ get to know her.

But now wasn’t the time for that, she mused, eyelashes fluttering as he brushed his fingers from her temple down to her chin, his thumb pressing in where her dimple usually dipped when she smiled.

“What a foolish man,” he whispered, and Emma didn’t know if he was speaking to her or to himself. “To seek another when he had you. A complete imbecile. You deserve so much better, love. You deserve the world.”

Her eyelids blinked slowly, tiredly, and she curled her hands around his shirt.

“Planning on giving it to me?” she said, her tone easy and flippant though it was a perfectly serious question.

She was scared he’d say _no_ , terrified he’d say _yes_ , and entirely expecting him to make a joke or innuendo about _giving it to her good_. But he did none of those things. Instead, he remained silent, an intensity and sincerity in his gaze as his eyes darted between hers. It was a little overwhelming but Emma could hardly move. He gently tucked a few flyaway hairs behind her ear, then pulled her into his embrace. She didn’t resist, tucking her head beneath his chin and wrapping one arm around his back, her other squeezed between their chests.

“Sleep, love,” he murmured, and she did.

 

 . . . . . . . . . .

 

Emma felt her heart physically leave her body and then slam back in her chest as she was startled awake from a deep slumber by the screeching of tires and the loud echo of a crash from the street below. She pressed a hand to her chest and released a heavy breath when she realized where she was and what was happening.

They’d fallen asleep outside, curled up together on her lounger, and the morning sun was shining into her eyes. It was cold enough that she could feel some sniffles coming on, her poor nose a bit reddened already, but beneath the blanket she was quite toasty. Sometime during the night, she’d rolled over, and she vaguely realized that Killian was spooning her _so well_ she kind of wanted to ignore everything else and just lie still for a while longer.

“Bloody hell… good morning?” His voice was thick with sleep and he had to clear his throat to get some of the gravel out.

Emma rolled to her back, turning to face him as he blinked himself awake. She hummed in response, not ready for the moment to be over.

“Are you… are you feeling all right? … Better?”

She brushed some of her hair out of her face, shrugging one shoulder. “No hangover.”

“I meant-“

“I know what you meant,” she said, her tongue darting out to wet her cold, slightly chapped lips. “Asshole could take a flying leap off a rooftop and I wouldn’t mourn his loss.”

“Bit morbid, that. Can’t say I disagree though.” He yawned, his jaw popping loudly, and then eased his arm out from beneath her, propping his elbow on the seat and his chin in his palm. His hair was sticking up all over the place and she found it extremely endearing. With an amused grin, he traced a fingertip down her cheek. “You have a line.”

“You have an eye booger.”

“No I don’t,” he argued, his voice rising an octave. He swiped at his eyes and cursed under his breath. She pressed her face against his arm, shaking with silent laughter, but pulled back when he poked her side. His gaze grew serious. “Sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, and it wasn’t a lie. “I’m good. I promise.”

“Good.“ His hand found hers beneath the blanket and he slowly drew it out, and up to his lips, leaving a trail of short, sweet kisses across her knuckles. God, she just knew she was going to release one of those long, dreamy sighs, straight out of a cartoon. And then the idiot spoke and that sigh quickly morphed into a disgusted scoff. “I desperately need to pee.”

“You are the literal worst.” But she was laughing, and made sure to swat his side as he untangled himself from her and raced inside her apartment to relieve himself. “Moment _ruiner_!”

The chill crept up without his warm body against hers and she quickly followed him inside, meandering into her kitchen to start brewing her morning dose of much-needed caffeine.

When Killian returned, he was mid-curse, rushing over to grab the jacket he’d tossed the evening before and donning it in seconds.

“What’s up?”

“Ah, I’m late for work, love. Didn’t realize how late we’d slept in.”

“Oh.” She blinked a few times, watching him try and fail to slip his shoes on as they were; he eventually just groaned, sitting on her floor and untying the laces so he could actually get them on his feet. What a goof. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to let you sleep the day away.”

“No, no, my fault. Left my phone on your coffee table last night.” She padded to her entryway as he finally stood upright, brushing imaginary dirt off the back of his jeans. He gave her an apologetic smile. “Apologies. I _had_ intended on having breakfast with you, chatting some more… and now here I am bolting the moment I wake up.”

“It’s no problem, really. We can have breakfast some other time.” In truth, she wanted to eat _him_ for breakfast ( _libido back, full force_ , she internally cheered) but given the fact that he was already late, she figured there was no need to press her luck with a suggestion like that.

And anyway, she loved the way his eyes widened in delight at the promise of more mornings together.

Before she could overthink it, she stepped forward, arms winding around his waist, her chest pressed to his. “Thank you, Killian,” she said, completely sincere. “For everything.”

His hands slid over her hips, fingers dipping up underneath her sweater, and her eyes fluttered as he nudged his nose against hers. Their lips were so, _so_ close, and she was so, _so_ ready to kiss him within an inch of his life.

But in true Moment Ruiner fashion, he pressed his lips chastely to her forehead, booped her nose with a lopsided grin, then waved as he grabbed his keys and exited through her front door. She stood with her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest as the sounds of his ridiculous cackle echoed down the hallway, and if he weren’t so _damn_ cute, she’d tell him he could forget about another morning in the Swan household.

Instead, she grabbed her phone off the table, dutifully deleted Walsh’s message and blocked his number as planned, then shot a text to Killian.

**Emma:** _you do that alot_

**Killian:** _What?_

**Emma:** _kiss me anywhere but my lips_

**Killian:** _Maybe I’m building suspense._

**Emma:** _[middle finger emoji]_

**Killian:** _I think the suspense thing is working._

**Emma:** _i hate you_

**Killian:** _Somehow I really doubt that._

**Emma:** _nope its true_

**Killian:** _Well I suppose that means you’ve no inclination for me to kiss you, then._

**Emma:** _your an ass_

**Killian:** _And you, my dear, are a delight._

Her eyes rolled so hard she nearly got a headache from it. But then her phone pinged again and she pursed her lips around a giddy smile.

**Killian:** _I swear I would have kissed you. Just not fond of my morning breath as your first impression. Rain check?_


End file.
